


Random Things

by Elya_Rho



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Family, Fictober 2018, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-07-24 11:12:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 55,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16173905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elya_Rho/pseuds/Elya_Rho
Summary: Fictober 2018 writing challenge - 31 stories in 31 daysNow complete!A series of stand-alone stories mainly dealing with the bond between Sam and Dean.





	1. Can you feel this?

Fictober 2018

Challenge 1- "Can you feel this?"

 

"This sucks so much," Dean groaned, letting his head fall forward onto his pillow. He buried his face into the rough white fabric until the need to breathe had him turning his head to the side.

"It's not exactly a joy for me, either," Sam replied with a hint of distracted exasperation in his voice.

Dean couldn't argue with that, but he also didn't really want to think about it. Nope, he'd much prefer not to think about it ever again. "Can't you knock me out for this? Why am I still conscious?"

"I'm not giving you a concussion on top of everything else. Aren't the pain pills helping?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to Sam putter around the room, gathering the supplies he would need to stitch Dean's injury. Both Winchesters were sadly familiar with the process of getting stitched up, but it was never a pleasant experience. Some experiences were even less pleasant than others.

This one was going to be _very_ unpleasant.

"Dean?"

 _Right_. He needed to answer his brother.

"They're working. A bit."

He could almost see Sam's pinched expression without even looking. "I can't wait too long. You're bleeding everywhere. Can I start or is it still too much?"

"I think I'll just let myself bleed out," Dean muttered in reply. "Less humiliating."

"There's nothing to be humiliated about. It's not the first time I've seen your ass," Sam pointed out. "It's not even the first time I've stitched it."

"Last time was for injuries sustained on a hunt," Dean protested weakly. "Claws across my lower back and _upper_ _butt_ are not the same thing as getting stabbed by a twig in my _ass_."

Sam gave a small chuckle at that. "You didn't really get stabbed by a twig so much as lose your balance and impale yourself on one. And it _did_ happen on a hunt-"

"It happened while _looking_ for a hunt, and if you tell anyone about this, I will end you."

"First of all, who would I tell? Second, how exactly would that even come up in conversation? 'Hey, other hunters, have you ever been stabbed in the ass by a tree? Because Dean has!'"

The younger Winchester made his way around the bed, coming into Dean's line of sight. His face was contorted into that earnest puppy-dog face that he got when he was trying to get Dean to see things his way. It usually ended badly for Dean.

"I get that it isn't the most noble of injuries, but it is bleeding a lot and if you really can't stand me patching you up, then we need to get a doctor to do it."

"There are places no brother should ever be touched by his sibling," Dean whined.

"Dean-"

" _Fine._ Just make it quick and then pass the whisky."

"It doesn't look like you'll need more than four or five stitches," Sam soothed, as he made his way back out of Dean's view. "Can you feel this?"

"If you're asking if I can feel you poking my ass, the answer is yes, and you need to stop now."

Dean heard his brother's soft laugh again and gave an aggrieved sigh. "I'll remember this next time _your_ ass needs stitches," he warned. "I have a long memory and I can hold a grudge."

The needle tugs were an odd sensation, as was the knowledge that it was Sam's hands doing the tugging. It didn't matter how much he loved and trusted his brother, or how many times they had needed to patch each other up or assist one another with basic human necessities, it still had Dean blushing in embarrassment. With any luck, he'd be able to pass out and forget it ever happened.

"Almost done," Sam announced, pulling Dean from his musings.

There was the sound of packages being rustled and Dean could feel when a bandage was taped in place.

"There you go. Good as new."

"Except for the part where there's a new hole in my ass," Dean replied. His voice was muffled as his face was buried in the pillow once again.

"I can always get you one of those inflatable doughnut things to sit on," Sam offered.

"I can still kill you without getting up."

Sam snorted in derision, but Dean didn't care.

The pills had finally starting to take full effect, making his head fuzzy and his body feel slightly disconnected. Dean allowed himself to drift as he listened to his brother clean up the evidence of the impromptu medical procedure.

He was still floating on the edge of sleep when Sam pulled the blanket up over him and gave his back a fond pat.

And finally sleep claimed him.


	2. People like you have no imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to say that I don't own Supernatural. I'm making no money off of this.

Challenge 2- "People like you have no imagination."

 

"You know what the problem is with people like you?" the short brunette glared up at Sam with a look of utter disdain. "People like you have no imagination."

"Imagination?" Sam echoed, eyebrow raised in surprise.

"Yeah, you see the world in black and white, never thinking that there could ever be anything out there that isn't explained in your little _books_ and stuff!"

_Books and stuff_?

Sam managed to refrain from rolling his eyes as he watched Jenny Travers flush with self-righteous anger.

Because, really, he was many things, but _unimaginative_ was not one of them.

He also didn't mention that criticizing someone for a lack of imagination while simultaneously trying to get them to believe you were being abducted by aliens was perhaps the wrong approach.

"Right," Sam nodded seriously, trying to maintain a professional visage. "Well, the FBI isn't really known for being overly imaginative."

"That's bull," Jenny retorted. "There are entire sections of the FBI totally devoted to this sort of thing."

The ghost of a smile fought at the corners of Sam's lips. "Are you talking about the _X-Files_? You know that's a TV show, right?"

Jenny let out a huff, tossing her head a little to send her hair back over her shoulder. "I'm not stupid. Of course, that's a TV show, but I've seen _documentaries_ about it. There are Men in Black, not the movie version, but real ones and they come around and-"

"That movie wasn't bad," Dean offered with a grin as he entered the living room. He gave a small shake of the head to Sam to indicate he had found no traces of EMF or anything else out of the ordinary, and then turned his attention on the frowning woman.

"You took a long time in there," Jenny said bluntly. "I hope you didn't stink up the bathroom."

"Why are you convinced aliens are abducting you, Miss Travers?" Sam interrupted before Dean could muster a response.

"I already went over this with the police."

"So, now you can go over it with us," Dean smiled, the expression a little forced.

With a sigh, Jenny walked over to her couch and let herself drop onto the overstuffed cushions.

Sam and Dean glanced at one another, uncertain if they were meant to follow or if she would yell at them for taking liberties by sitting on her furniture.

"It happens almost every night," the young woman began. "I climb into bed and it takes forever for me to fall asleep."

She paused, looking up at them with narrowed eyes. "You're going to give me a neck cramp. You should probably sit down."

It was as polite an invitation as they were going to get, so the brothers took it. Dean settled himself in the lone armchair with a smug grin, leaving Sam to take the other end of the couch beside Jenny.

Silence lingered in the room before Jenny cleared her throat pointedly. "Shouldn't you be taking notes or something?"

Dean nodded. "Absolutely. Agent? You're taking notes, right?"

Sam pulled out his notebook and sent Dean a warning glare when Jenny looked away.

Dean met his gaze innocently.

"So, you take a long time to fall asleep?" Sam prompted.

"Why are you even here?" Jenny asked suddenly. "The police don't believe me, so they didn't call you. My own _family_ didn't believe me, and _I_ sure as hell didn't call you. The newspapers pretty much made me out to be some whack-job with a drug problem or something, so why are weirdo FBI agents coming around to help the crazy chick get rid of aliens? Am I going to be the talk around the water cooler on Monday? Did you draw the short straw?"

_And that was it_.

Sam felt a rush of shame as he looked at the suspicious woman staring him down. She was belligerent. She was short-tempered and slightly rude.

And she was scared.

It was easy to miss that fact when faced with a verbal assault from someone who had clearly watched too many alien movies over the years, but it was completely evident to his eyes now. Her expression hadn't changed. Her demeanour was still combative, but she had been shot down by everyone who should have helped her or protected her, she had been mocked by those claiming to want to hear her story, and now she was facing that dismissal again.

"Miss Travers," Sam started cautiously, hoping to defuse the situation before it came to a head. "Honestly, I don't believe in aliens. What I do believe is that something is happening to you and I want to help you. This isn't a game for us and we aren't here to make fun of you."

Jenny looked unconvinced. "Even my friends and co-workers can't seem to stop making comments about it. They all think it's a big joke. Having the FBI come here isn't exactly going to make that go away. It's going to be all _Mulder and Scully_ stuff from now on."

"Forget the FBI thing," Sam said. "How about this? We're just talking and there is no pressure on you to tell us anything you don't want to. In fact, we can look into this quietly without opening anything official. It'll stay just between us."

He saw Dean sit up straighter out the corner of his eye. "Whatever is happening, we will stop it. It's our job and we're very good at it."

Jenny sighed, though Sam could tell she wasn't completely convinced. "When I finally fall asleep, that's when they come for me. There's a strange sound, like when there's a lot of pressure in your ears. You know that sound?"

Both brothers nodded.

"It goes really still and then I see this figure by my door. It's dark, like a shadow, and I want to run or scream, but I can't. It's like I'm paralysed and I can only watch it come closer and closer. I can't even breathe." Jenny's face had turned pale as she spoke, the remembered terror as fresh in the daylight as it was in the darkness.

"What does the figure look like?" Dean asked, his face grim.

Whatever it was that was tormenting Jenny, Sam knew his brother was already itching to kill it.

"I can never see it fully," Jenny replied. "I think I'm not supposed to be aware of it, because that's when I usually start to feel like I'm floating or dizzy, like I'm detached from myself. There are lights flickering all around me and there's the roaring sound . . . that's how I know I'm on their spaceship."

This time, Sam had no trouble maintaining a serious expression and he didn't need to look at his brother to know that Dean was fully invested as well.

"This may sound like an odd question, but is the figure small? Does it sit on you?" the elder Winchester asked. "Like it's holding you in place?"

Jenny nodded, her eyes growing wide. "Sometimes. It sat at the foot of my bed at first, but it kept getting closer. How did you know that? I never told anyone that part because I know it sounds stupid, like I should be able to just push it off me or something."

Sam was already shaking his head. "You wouldn't be able to push it off on your own. Not without knowing what it is."

"And you guys know what it is?"

The hunters nodded.

"It sounds like a night hag," Sam said. "There are dozens of variations to the story, but encounters have been reported all over the world for centuries. It pins you down and feeds off your life-force and fear while you hover in a state between wakefulness and sleep. In some forms it's essentially the origin of the night-mare."

Jenny gaped at him in disbelief. "And I thought you lacked imagination."

"It's not imagination," Dean assured her. "And it's not aliens. Don't worry, though - if it is what we think it is, then we can kill it."

There was a flicker of doubt in Jenny's eyes, but there was something else there, too.

_Hope._

"Trust us, Jenny," Sam said with a small smile. "We can help you."

There wasn't much they could do about Jenny's so-called friends, but there was definitely something they could do about her nightmare.

And the Winchesters were going to make absolutely certain that the creature terrorizing Jenny Travers would go down in flames.

 


	3. How can I trust you?

 Dean knew he was in trouble the moment he heard the fire alarm go off, no doubt alerting the fire department to the blaze that was merrily eating the ground floor of the building he was in.

Actually, he had known he was in trouble even before that; probably about the same time that the office building had caught fire in the first place.

Not that he'd started the fire, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that he was in the basement of a burning building with the owner of said building staring at him with horror-filled eyes.

There was also the small matter that the same horrified man had just watched Dean cut the head off of Jerry, the IT guy.

Of course, Jerry was a newly-minted vampire who was using his powers to commit crimes of vengeance, but that excuse didn't usually go over well with anyone.

"Come on, Mitch," Dean coaxed. "We gotta get out of here. The place is going up like a tinder box in case you didn't notice."

The fire alarms were giving Dean a headache.

He reached down to help Mitch up, but the older man let out a terrified cry as Dean's blood-stained hand came closer.

_Great._

That was going to be hard to explain to the police and fire crews when they finally made it out of the building.

"Mitch, I'm not going to hurt you. You need to trust me on that."

"Trust you?" Mitch nearly shrieked in fear. "How can I trust you? You just cut off Jerry's _head_!"

Dean nodded. "He wasn't who he seemed, though. He was into . . . " _how to put it in a way Mitch would understand . . ._ "cannibalism. Yeah, old Jerry, there . . . he liked alternative food sources."

"So you cut off his _head_?" Mitch looked horrified and vaguely sick.

Dean glanced back at the headless corpse behind him and grimaced at the blood pooling around it. It probably did seem like overkill under the circumstances.

"Oh, god!" Mitch groaned and Dean turned back in time to watch the other man lean to the side and puke up everything he'd eaten that day.

Dean gagged slightly at the smell and then forced himself to focus.

"Mitch, if you don't come with me right now, we are going to burn to death. Do you understand that?"

"Please don't kill me!"

The sound of fire alarms was getting increasingly annoying, and Dean really wanted to be far away before the fire brigade got the blaze under control and came downstairs to find Jerry quite literally beside himself.

"Okay, we're done with the nice guy thing." Dean reached down and grabbed Mitch, pulling him to his feet with an iron grip. "We are leaving right now, do you understand me?"

"Why are you burning down my office?" Mitch blubbered as he stumbled along beside Dean.

" _I_ didn't set the fire! Jerry did!" Dean protested. "He was trying to kill me!"

Not that it had helped him. Dean had escaped the burning room and chased the vampire to the basement where he decapitated him. It was only then that he had noticed Mitch huddled in the corner in a state of horrified shock.

_Surprise, surprise_ , watching someone decapitate a former employee didn't make for a good basis for a relationship, hence Mitch's reluctance to let himself get rescued.

Dean was seriously starting to wonder when he'd apparently become the guy who had to drag people out of fires.

"Please don't kill me!" Mitch begged, stumbling on the staircase.

Dean rolled his eyes and yanked the older man up again. "Buddy, if I wanted to kill you, I'd just leave you in the basement."

That set Mitch off again, his whispered pleas for mercy barely audible over the sound of the fire alarms.

Dean didn't bother with more reassurances. As long as Mitch was upright and moving in the right direction, he didn't care anymore if the man believed him.

They crested the stairs, coming to main level where flames were licking at the walls. Without wasting a moment, Dean pulled Mitch to the doorway, where Jerry had originally broken the glass to make his entrance.

The sound of sirens reached his ears and Dean cursed under his breath. It was time for a quick getaway.

"Wait here, Mitch," Dean ordered. "You'll be fine. Help is on the way."

Mitch sagged onto the sidewalk and Dean paused only long enough to make sure the older man wasn't going to suddenly run back into the building or something before he turned to the Impala.

He'd double-parked in the lot, having been in a hurry at the time, and he sagged into driver's seat with relief. There was no time to waste, though. He could already see the lights of rescue vehicles approaching.

Starting the car, Dean sped out of the lot before joining up with the main street in town. He slowed down as he drove towards the hotel, trying to look unhurried.

Pulling out his phone, Dean dialled his brother and wasn't surprised when Sam answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Sammy," he greeted with false enthusiasm. "So, good news is, I ran into that vamp we were looking for. Bad news is that it wasn't exactly subtle. How fast can you pack our crap?"

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Will that be all?

Charlotte looked up as the bell rang, right on schedule. The diner was empty at the moment, as it was far too early for any but the most devoted morning person. Even the shift workers weren't out yet. But _he_ was here!

Where moments before she had been suffering from interminable boredom, now Charlotte felt suddenly awake. She couldn't help it when a bright smile flitted across her face. For her, the morning wasn't complete without a visit from her favourite customer and she didn't care how much Sal teased her about it.

Tossing aside the cloth she'd been using to wipe the tables, Charlotte hurried up to the counter. She no longer bothered trying to play it cool, instead choosing to let her exuberance flow from her. He probably thought she was crazy, but she wasn't worried about that, either.

He greeted her by name, smiling as he asked how her morning was going.

She loved that about him. He remembered her name. If she mentioned something in passing on Wednesday, he would ask her about it on Thursday. If only her ex had been so attentive . . .

She cut that thought off with a brutal twist. That wasn't what he was here for. It wasn't as though they would ever hook up. In truth, though she'd daydreamed about flirting with him, she couldn't help but feel that reality would spoil the image she'd crafted around him. There was no way he could be everything she imagined him to be and it wouldn't be fair to put those expectations on him.

No, Charlotte didn't flirt. She smiled and she blushed and she talked too much, but she let him believe she was like that with everyone. That wasn't flirting, not really.

Besides, he never flirted with her, either. He smiled and dipped his head, but he never stumbled over words or made a fool of himself. He was always so polite, too!

He tipped well and made small talk while Sal cooked up his orders and Charlotte poured the coffees.

Always two coffees to go, a detail that Charlotte chose to ignore for the time that he was in her diner. For those few glorious minutes each morning, it was only the two of them in the world.

She realized that she hadn't replied to his greeting yet, and didn't fight the blush that rose on her cheeks. "Good morning, Sam! Are you bringing in the sunshine?"

Sam huffed a small laugh good-naturedly. "It shouldn't be too far behind me. It'll probably be a nice sunrise today."

"And your research? How's that going?" Charlotte didn't know exactly what Sam was researching, only that he came in most mornings looking like he hadn't slept at all yet somehow simultaneously managing to look like some sculpture of a Greek god with gorgeous hair and charming dimples.

"It was a good night. I think we're finally making some headway," Sam admitted, ducking his head in that self-deprecating way that just made Charlotte melt.

She ignored the 'we' in his sentence, just to preserve her daydream. "Is that why you're covered in dirt today?"

He glanced down as though surprised at the presence of a healthy blanket of grime on his jeans. "Huh. I hadn't noticed that. Must have been muddy on the walk here or something."

"Uh huh," Charlotte nodded obligingly. It hadn't rained in days and Sam looked more like he'd rolled in the dirt than kicked it up on jog. She was just glad that Gracie didn't start work until 7, or she'd give Charlotte that know-it-all smirk again.

Gracie was convinced that Sam and his mysterious partner were devil-worshipping serial killers. Supposedly, Gracie had seen Sam wandering the local cemetery, peering intently at every gravestone as he did. In Gracie's world, an interest in genealogy apparently segued seamlessly into a macabre obsession with the occult.

In Charlotte's world, Gracie was a bit of an idiot.

"What'll you have today, then?" she asked, as if she didn't already know what he was planning to order.

Sure enough, Sam grinned. "One _Wake-up Call_ and one egg-white omelette with a side of hash browns, please. And-"

" _Two coffees to go_ ," Charlotte joined in, matching his intonation as he ordered the drinks. She didn't bother calling back the order to Sal. She could already hear the sizzle of bacon and sausage that went with the _Wake-up Call_. Sal had probably been cooking it before Sam even entered the diner. After all, it wasn't like Sam ever varied his order. "Will that be all?"

It was more of a formality than anything. There was never anything else -

"You know," Sam said slowly, "maybe I should get something else. What kind of pie is that?"

Charlotte tried not to let too much surprise show on her face. "It's cherry. Fresh-baked a few hours ago."

"Could I get a piece of that, too, please?"

"Sure thing," Charlotte answered. "Only one?"

Sam nodded and was about to speak when Sal rang the bell.

"Order up," he called unnecessarily. He winked when Charlotte rolled her eyes at him and then retreated out of view.

Sam's cell phone rang as Charlotte gathered up the breakfasts and she couldn't help but listen in as the handsome young man carried on a slightly hushed conversation.

Was he speaking to his mysterious companion? Charlotte found herself wondering what kind of person could snag a man like Sam . . .

" _Now_? Are you serious?"

Charlotte frowned slightly as she packed up the take-away bag, loading in the extra ketchup packets that either Sam or his partner liked. She'd never managed to find out which.

"That's a two-day drive from here. _Okay_. Right. Even if we leave now, we'll never get there in time. The full moon is tomorrow."

Charlotte paused, surprised at the mention of the full moon. That was an odd thing to say. Certainly, she would never mention that little tidbit to Gracie . . .

"Okay. I'm on my way. I'll be there in 10."

Sam ended his call and when Charlotte turned to look at him, she almost didn't recognize him anymore.

The dimples were gone and a deep crease ran across his forehead. It was as though the weight of the world had suddenly settled on his shoulders and he wasn't certain he could carry it.

"Everything okay?" she asked before she could stop herself. She set the bag on the counter and tried to pretend nothing had changed.

Sam gave her a smile, but it wasn't the same. Even as she watched, it was as though his mind was a million miles away, pondering a problem that had just been dropped unceremoniously into his lap.

He pulled out his wallet, handing her a handful of bills that would have covered two breakfasts of the kind he had just ordered. Charlotte opened her mouth to point out that fact, when Sam nodded to her.

"Thanks, Charlotte. Take care."

And then he was gone, the ringing bell the only sign that he had ever been there at all.

Charlotte stared after him for a moment, knowing that the best part of her day had walked away for the last time.

It had been nice while it lasted.

It was only later, as the shifts were changing, that she realized she'd forgotten to give him his pie.

 


	5. Take what you need

If there was one thing that Dean Winchester hated above all else, it was seeing his brother injured.

It happened, of course. It wasn't like either Winchester lived a safe life or anything. Injuries were part of the job, and the possibility of something horrific happening to one or both of them was a constant worry.

They played it off, though. They joked about their concerns, teased one another about their scrapes and bruises, offered silent support when words weren't enough.

Dean always thought he hid his terror well.

The truth was, seeing Sam in pain made Dean hurt in a deep and visceral way.

There was the horror of seeing the blood staining his brother's shirt; the stunned disbelief as Sam's wide eyes met his; the panic as Sam's body finally gave in and he succumbed to unconsciousness.

Then there was the sheer helplessness as he realized just how far from help they were.

Dean was no stranger to fear, but no hunt could ever match the depth of feeling that his sibling inspired every time he managed to get himself seriously wounded.

Dean had called Bobby in desperation; the older hunter had worked his magic and found a solution in the name of Doctor Flinders. The old man was a retired country doctor, seemingly ordinary in every way, except for the fact that he had once been rescued from a grisly fate by one Bobby Singer and still felt that he owed the hunter a favour. Doc Flinders had been over half an hour away, even with Dean behind the wheel, but a bleeding brother was strong motivation to break speed limits. No one had been on those dark roads in the middle of nowhere and Dean wouldn't have cared if they were. He'd driven as though hell itself was on their tail, and he could honestly make the comparison.

That was how Dean had found himself in the little country cottage, staring at mis-matched furniture and paintings of tweed-clad aristocrats on hunting trips while a stranger tried to fix his brother.

Dean paced in the small living room, unable to sit still or concentrate on anything. His trembling hands betrayed his nerves and he hated the fact that they were completely stained by his brother's blood.

Working on autopilot, he found his way to the bathroom and washed until his hands were almost raw from scrubbing. It was something to do other than standing around uselessly.

Doctor Flinders hadn't wanted Dean distracting him while he took care of Sam. He'd claimed to be good at his job, but not good at being watched while doing it, and Dean had been forced to acquiesce. Arguing wouldn't have done any good and would only have wasted more time that Sam didn't have.

Dean realized that he'd been staring at the running water for a long time and cursed when he didn't know exactly how long it had been. The fear of what could have been happening as he had mentally checked out scared him into action and he hurried back to the living room.

It was still empty; no doctor waited to deliver news and Dean didn't know whether that was good or bad.

There was nothing he could do and it was killing him. The thought of sitting down made Dean feel physically ill, as though resting would somehow be a betrayal of the fight Sam was waging on the other side of the closed door.

So Dean paced.

His ears were ringing as he walked a circuit of the room, unable to keep still, the roar of his own heartbeat deafening as he drowned in worst-case scenarios and what-ifs.

_What if Sam died?_

_What if he didn't die, but had suffered some irreparable harm?_

_What if he didn't die, but simply never woke up?_

_What if -_

"Dean?"

The voice snapped him out of his musings instantly and he turned to face the doctor.

When Dean drew a sharp breath. His mouth was dry and he could barely form the question he desperately needed to ask.

"I've stitched him up," Flinders replied before Dean could manage to find his voice. "I'm not gonna lie to you, son, it wasn't good. He's going to need some blood, and that's just not something I keep on hand here."

"Sam and I have the same type. Take what you need."

"It's not ideal," Flinders warned. "You haven't been screened-"

"I'm clean," Dean insisted. "Besides, it's not like you have much of a choice."

Flinders sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you're right on that count. Come on."

The older man turned back to the spare bedroom where he had been working on Sam, and Dean didn't need any more prompting to follow him.

The need to see his brother with his own eyes was consuming him.

Sam was lying completely still on the single bed and even in unconsciousness his pale face looked pained.

"How bad is it?" Dean asked softly as he reached out and laid his hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Sit right there," Flinders ordered, pointing to the armchair beside the bed. He was pulling out tubes for the transfusion, but he took a moment to give Dean a wan smile. "I think he'll recover fully given some rest. It'll take time and those cuts got very close to doing some serious damage, but I think he avoided the worst of it. He lost a lot of blood though."

"Well, we'll fix that," Dean replied, hating how his voice shook slightly.

"This creature you were hunting, did you kill it?"

"Oh, yeah," Dean nodded with satisfaction. "It's a doornail."

It didn't matter that they'd already been intending to kill it; the moment it had hurt his brother, its fate had been sealed and Dean had dispatched it with brutal intensity.

Dean kept one hand on Sam's cold arm while the doctor puttered around them. He felt his heart rate calm as he watched his brother breathe. The restless helplessness that had plagued him melted away as Flinders inserted the needles that would allow Dean's blood to flow into Sam.

They had been lucky this time.

Dean didn't let himself think about whether that luck would hold the next time.

He would focus on the present.

Soon, Sam would be up and about. They would joke about Dean's concern; Dean would tease Sam about getting scraped and bruised, and he would offer silent support when words weren't enough.

And Dean would hide his terror.


	6. I heard enough, this ends now

It's Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada and I'm heading home, so I may be a little late with the next couple chapters. I'll put them up as soon as I can!

Thanks for reading!

* * *

 

"Oh, this is not happening," Carl growled, anger evident in his stance.

"Calm down," Sam warned him. "We have to give Dean and Greg time to get around the building. If you go charging in, we're going to get those people killed."

"They're already getting killed, Winchester," Carl retorted, ignoring Sam's gesture to quiet down. "Can't you hear that?"

While Carl was jumping the gun with his claims of murders happening at that moment, it was definitely coming to that soon. Sam could hear it. There was no way he couldn't hear it. The vampires had found their entertainment for the night and they were enjoying it immensely. The sounds of raucous laughter rang out from the abandoned warehouse where the creatures had made their nest. That laughter was punctuated by the cries of terrified people who were trapped in a situation far beyond their comprehension.

"You'd rather sit here and play it safe, huh? Wait for morning when they're sleeping?" Carl spat the last word, his voice once again getting dangerously loud. "That's not how I roll."

Sam gritted his teeth and tried to avoid snapping back at the other hunter. He could see why Greg had ditched his partner in favour of temporarily teaming up with Dean. Carl was a hot-head when it came to vampires and he nursed a deep-seated loathing for them which clouded his judgement. Greg hadn't wanted to do the hunt at all, but apparently running into the Winchesters at the bar earlier that night had changed his mind.

Really, it had sounded simple. Four hunters, one nest smashed, eight or so vamps killed, five locals rescued . . . and then Miller time.

Except Carl had apparently shot his mouth off to Greg on the ride over and Greg refused to work with him until he apologized. Of course, Carl wouldn't apologize, so it was either re-work the team structure or call off the hunt. No one wanted to leave the civilians in the hands of vampires for a moment longer than required, so the solution was simple - split up the bickering duo and carry on.

Dean and Greg had headed off to sabotage the vampires' vehicles to prevent their escape while Carl and Sam got into position. The plan was uncomplicated - give the others ten minutes to finish their work and circle around the building before going in hard and fast.

Sam glanced at his watch. Only three minutes had passed. That would barely give Dean and Greg enough time to get to the cars and disable a single one, depending on how exactly they planned to go about it.

But Carl was getting impatient and if Sam couldn't head this off, Carl was going to get everyone killed, victims and hunters alike.

"No part of this plan called for waiting until morning," Sam reasoned, keeping his voice low and level. "Only a few more minutes and then we can go in, but until then you have to be quiet."

Carl gave another growl deep in his throat and Sam bit back the urge to tell him to shut up. He sincerely hoped Dean was getting along with Greg or the entire hunt was screwed from the get-go.

Carl's hand was clenched around his machete so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Harsh breaths sounded far too loud to Sam's ears and he suspected that if it hadn't been for the drunken caterwauling in the barn, the vamps would have already found them.

Sam glanced at his watch again. Five minutes gone; halfway there.

A tremulous wail filled the night, the sound of a woman in horrified despair, and it was followed by another chorus of delighted cheers by her captors.

Sam could almost sense the moment when Carl's control snapped.

The older hunter clenched his machete so tightly, it looked like his fingers would break. "I heard enough, this ends now."

Sam shot to his feet, grabbing at Carl as the older man took off at a dead run towards the warehouse. He missed, just barely, but it was enough to let the other hunter get away and fling himself headlong into danger.

"Shit!" Sam cried. All sense of stealth or surprise was gone. Carl was going to get himself killed and Sam couldn't just sit by and let it happen no matter how much the man had brought it on himself.

He was only a few steps behind Carl as the other hunter threw himself into his probable demise. The door had barely slowed him down and as Sam entered the dimly-lit building, the vamps were already turning to greet their unexpected guests.

There wasn't any time to get the lay of the battlefield beyond noting that there were definitely more than eight fangs at the party.

Carl launched himself at the nearest vampire, swinging his machete with a fury that gave him strength, but cost him accuracy.

Sam grimaced, but there wasn't much he could do to help as he found himself facing down two vamps with their game faces on. He got lucky with his first hit, downing the creature who had perhaps underestimated its floppy-haired foe. With a quick swing of his machete, Sam cut off its head and immediately turned to his second threat.

This one was more cautious and kept a slight distance as it feinted attacks and searched for openings. And apparently it found one. It raced towards Sam in a flying tackle, taking him down before he could counter his attack. Sam threw his arm up, catching the creature by the neck in a desperate attempt to keep it from biting him. With his free hand, he brought his machete back into play and stabbed his foe in the side. It wouldn't be a fatal wound, but it served to distract the vamp long enough for Sam to kick it off him. He was moving before the vampire managed to recover and had another head rolling across the wooden floor.

The sounds of screams filled the air as the horrified human captives watched the bloodbath unfolding in front of them.

Sam spared a quick glance for Carl, who was coated in blood. The younger hunter couldn't tell how much of that blood was Carl's and how much belonged to the mangled body of the dead vampire at his feet, but he didn't have any time to ponder it.

Three vampires were down, but there were too many remaining. Unless Dean and Greg showed up soon -

As though Sam's thoughts had summoned him, Dean burst into the room through the opposite door. There was a determined glint in his eyes and his movements were those of a consummate professional, already adjusting to the change in plans.

"You know I hate to miss a good party, Sammy!" Dean called, his tone deceptively light.

Sam winced as he took an unexpected blow. "Don't worry, I saved you some."

"Carl, you're an idiot!" Greg's contribution was short and to the point, but wholly accurate.

The hunter in question was panting as he faced two vampires at once, his wild and frenzied attacks serving to wear him out with worrying speed. "Screw you, Greg!"

"Can you guys maybe continue your fight later?" Dean yelled, hurrying to Carl's aid. "Greg, get those people out of here!"

What followed was a brutal exercise in extermination.

The hunters took advantage of the fact that the vampires had been taken off guard and drunk and pressed that advantage for as long as they could. The blood-suckers sobered it's alarming speed, so dispatching as many as possible as quickly as possible was the only way to even the odds.

Harsh breaths, guttural screams, brutal hits . . . the sounds blended together in a cacophony of combat that seemed to last forever.

Sam was panting by the time he realized there was no one left to face, and he found himself seeking out his brother before he'd even lowered his weapon.

For his part, Dean was mostly unharmed. Blood leaked slowly from a scrape over his left eye, but Dean seemed unbothered by it.

As though sensing his brother's gaze, Dean turned to him and grinned.

"Whew! That was fun!" Dean was breathing heavily, but looked content. "What? No more?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just the one Carl is . . . hacking up."

He frowned as he watched the other hunter letting loose on the vampire's body.

"Buddy, I think you got it," Dean called. "We're done."

Greg was already making his way to his distracted partner, muttering under his breath as he picked his way through the field of decapitated bodies.

Carl glanced up as Greg approached, blinking as though seeing his surroundings for the first time. He was liberally splattered with blood and Sam couldn't help but be disturbed by the detachment in Carl's eyes. Greg said something to him quietly and nodded at Carl's response.

With a light slap to his friend's shoulder, Greg approached the brothers. Behind him, Carl slowly moved around the room, carefully and deliberately checking every body to make sure it was dead.

"Did the humans get out?" Sam asked.

"They're all alive," Greg answered. "I told them we'd get them home, but I don't know if they hung around or not."

That probably meant they'd be searching for traumatized civilians then. Only really crazy people would hang around waiting to see who won in a fight against monsters.

"Is he okay?" Sam asked, nodding to Carl's hunched figure.

"He gets like this sometimes when fangs are involved," Greg shrugged. "He'll be fine."

"So are you guys friends again or something?" Dean wiped his machete on a rag he'd found on the ground. "I didn't hear him apologize."

Greg sighed. "Vampires get to him, but I shouldn't have let _him_ get to _me_. He'll buy the beers next time and we'll move on."

"Speaking of moving on," Sam said, "we'd better go round up those people before they get lost in the woods or something."

Dean groaned. "Five people in the back seat? You're going to turn Baby into a clown car."

"Are you guys okay to finish up here?" Sam asked Greg.

The older man nodded. "We'll burn everything that's left, don't worry. Thanks again, boys. Beers are on Carl next time we see you."

"Sounds good," Dean answered easily, much to Sam's surprise. Dean headed for the exit, and Sam trotted after him, catching up without any real effort.

"I thought you were going to punch Carl in the face or something," he admitted. "He kinda jumped the gun back there."

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged. "We've all been where he is. To tell you the truth, the only reason you beat me in there was because you were closer. Once the screaming started, Greg and I were going in whether you were ready or not."

Sam nodded. "It was a long ten minutes."

Dean smirked. "It was barely five!"

"You know what I meant," Sam replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Ten vamps taken care of, five people rescued, and no hunters down," Dean commented. "All in all, not a bad night. Come on, Samantha. Let's go round up some civilians."

With a light punch to Sam's arm, Dean led the way to where Baby waited for them.

Sam smiled. Not a bad night at all.


	7. No worries, we still have time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds himself trapped and running out of time.

Challenge 7 - No worries, we still have time

* * *

Dean cursed viciously as cold water rose up to his shoulders. He shivered violently, and steeled himself against the pain in his extremities.

He was running out of time.

Grabbing the bars over his head, Dean hammered against them with all his strength in a desperate attempt to dislodge the lock that held him prisoner in the freezing, water-filled pit.

He could hear the padlock rattle from his efforts, but it never loosened against the onslaught of his frantic efforts to escape.

He gasped from his exertions as he once again tried to find another way out of the death trap in which he was imprisoned.

And it was most certainly a death trap.

The bodies of three other people had been the first sight that had greeted Dean upon regaining consciousness in the hole. The bloated and decaying bodies were horrific even to the seasoned hunter and the knowledge that he would soon be just like them spurred him to an even greater need to free himself.

As far as he could see, there was no way out.

Water poured in from a pipe near the top of the pit. Dean had tried to stop the flow of water by plugging the hole with his shirt, but the pipe was too large. He had nothing else - no weapons, no tools, no cell phone - just a pit and a bunch of dead people and an increasingly-likely watery demise that was getting Dean more than a little worried.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been in the pit before regaining consciousness, but it had only been about half an hour since the water had started rushing in.

Only half an hour and it was already to his shoulders.

Sam would be looking for him, of that Dean was certain. He had left his brother a message letting him know roughly where he was going, he just didn't know if his brother would be in time.

Dean cursed again. It wasn't a way he'd ever thought he'd go out. He'd always imagined going down in a fight or at the very least, with a weapon in his hand. Instead, he was trapped and it was a regular human serial killer who was to blame.

The brothers had come to North Carolina on the belief that they were dealing with a creature of some sort - something that hunted on a cycle of three years, taking four or five people before disappearing for another three years.

Dean had thought he'd been interviewing a witness to one of the abductions, but Rick Clayton had ended up being much more than that.

He had agreed to show Dean where the incident had taken place, guiding the hunter to a derelict farm out in the middle of nowhere.

Dean had been so convinced that he had been dealing with something paranormal, it hadn't been until after Clayton tasered him and dropped him unconscious in a hole that he realized everything had been the work of one sadistic psychopath.

Clayton had taken great joy in Dean's horrified rage at the fate of the three people he and Sam had sought to rescue. The murderer promised Dean a terrible death and place in his collection of victims, a thought that brought red-hot rage running through Dean's veins.

Clayton hadn't even stuck around to watch Dean's struggle for freedom. He'd left The hunter locked in the pit and about fifteen minutes after that, the water had started coming in - water that was over his shoulders now.

Something bumped into him and Dean was reminded once again that there were bodies floating alongside him in the too-small pit. Not that having more space would have made it better.

Dean shook the bars again, cursing in frustration.

"Dean?"

The call sounded far away, and for a moment, Dean wasn't sure that he hadn't imagined it. Then he heard it again.

"Sammy? I'm here!"

There were scuffling sounds from somewhere out of sight and the heavy fall of footsteps hurrying down wooden steps. Dean stuck his hand out through the bars to make sure his brother didn't miss him.

As if Sam would be able to miss a giant metal grate in the cellar floor.

Sure enough, Sam's face came into view, peering into the pit where the water lapped at Dean's chin.

"Dean! Are you okay? What the hell?"

"Sam, it's Clayton! He's a freakin' serial killer! Watch your back!"

If Clayton got his brother, they were both done for.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam answered, already pulling out his lockpick. "The guy was outside when I got here. He attacked me and I had to take him down. He's not hurting anyone else."

There was a slight catch in Sam's voice, something that came up whenever the brothers had to kill a human. Even when that person was a murderer, Sam would feel the weight of that terrible deed.

Dean wished that he could have been the one to take Clayton out - both to save his brother from having to kill a person and for his own personal sense of revenge. The man had left him to drown, after all.

Speaking of which . . .

"Don't suppose you can hurry it up with that lock, can you?" Dean sputtered as the water covered his mouth and he was forced to tilt his head back to keep it out of the water. The top of his head was pressed against the bars and he was running out of space. He needed out, and he needed out now.

Sam's face paled and he looked down at Dean with wide eyes.

"He superglued the lock."

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Wanna run that by me again?"

"He put superglue in the lock!" The tension in Sam's voice sent a jolt of fear running through Dean's body. "Dean, I can't pick this - I need the bolt cutters."

The water was getting higher and Dean was running out of space to breathe. He could practically feel the strain in Sam as he suggested leaving his brother, even for a moment.

There was nothing else he could do, though, and they both knew it.

"No worries, we still have time," Dean joked, trying to sound nonchalant. Judging by Sam's expression, he failed miserably.

"I'll be quick," Sam promised.

And then he was gone.

Dean shivered in the cold water and tried not to think about the fact that he was essentially bathing in a soup of dead people. His stomach clenched at the thought.

The water rose higher and Dean was soon pressing his face against the bars.

He was running out of time and where the hell was Sam?

"Dean!" Sam's voice was loud and just-this-side of panicked. "Hang on!"

Dean couldn't answer. If he opened his mouth, it would be filled with freezing cold water and anything else that was lurking in it with him -

and then he was fully underwater, his brother's form an indistinct and blurry shape above him.

For a moment, he remained calm; tried to tell himself that he'd be out in a second.

But something was wrong. He wasn't free yet. Maybe the lock was too thick . . . maybe it was bolted down in another way, too . . . maybe Sam just couldn't get him out -

The need for air had Dean's lungs burning.

He couldn't breathe!

Dean's hands gripped the bars, shaking them as desperation filled him.

He couldn't think past the building panic.

He barely noticed as the bars were pulled up, yanking Dean from the water as his iron grip kept him attached to his prison grate.

Hands clenched around his arms, tugging him from the water until he was lying in a gasping, freezing heap on the floor.

Sam was calling to him, fear evident in his voice even though Dean couldn't make out the words over the sound of his own frantic coughing.

The younger hunter's hands still clutched Dean's arms, supporting him as he finally got his racing heart and heaving breathing under control. The air cleared his vision and he managed to get Sam into focus.

Dean patted his little brother's leg, letting a relieved smile cross his face.

"Nice timing, Sammy."


	8. I know you do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 - Sam is having a bad day and Dean is awesome

Sam Winchester was having a bad day.

It wasn't a 'cursed-rabbit-foot-causing-him-to-get-beaten-up-and-shot' kind of bad day - rather a steady stream of irritations, enough that he just wanted to climb back into bed and sleep until it was over. Maybe he'd even try to take out the motel's neon sign that had spent the entire night bathing him in a red glow, seemingly heedless of the threadbare curtains that were supposed to block it out.

Sam had developed a profound hatred of that stupid sign.

Thoughts of the motel and the warm blankets that awaited him there weren't helping him get through the day. He was so tired that even the mere thought of sleep made Sam want to yawn. He hadn't managed so much as a wink the night before, leaving him with a headache and a dull ache in his joints. His eyes burned with exhaustion, getting worse as the day droned on.

It had been hard enough to focus that morning. Dean had been trying to determine the best course of action for their latest case. Of course, Dean's plan of action went as expected - exactly the way they usually did - which was leaving the research to Sam while Dean got to go off and interview witnesses. Normally, Sam was fine with that arrangement. He enjoyed research and Dean, while more than capable, was usually less willing. Anyway, it was probably for the best that Sam avoided interacting with victims and their families until he was certain he wouldn't fall asleep on the job.

He tried to tell himself it wasn't so bad. Sam was used to being tired. He could work through most things, but even his usual optimism could be whittled away by a series of small irritations.

It wasn't _quality_ so much as _quantity_.

He'd spent the morning trying to research in the motel room, but his computer steadfastly refused to remain connected to wi-fi for more than three minutes at a time. Finally conceding defeat, Sam had decided to head to the library in hopes of getting the information he needed.

On his way to the library, he had been splashed by a car and his pants had been soaked with freezing puddle water. The water had run down into his shoes, soaking his socks and leaving his toes trapped in a wet leather prison. It went without saying that wearing wet socks wasn't the most comfortable way to spend an afternoon.

His pen had burst at some point during the morning, coating the cover of his notebook and the inside of his bag with blue ink. His hands had become stained when he'd reached in to get said book.

He'd gotten four paper cuts, one of which left a bloody streak on his shirt before he'd noticed that it was bleeding.

He was tired.

He was grumpy.

He was more than done with researching in the library from hell with its flickering lightbulb and the funny smell that kept wafting around the room.

More than that, he was tired of the lack of results his research was achieving. Despite spending hours alone amongst the musty books in a secluded section of the basement, Sam had nothing to show for his efforts.

To top it off, he was hungry and he was pretty sure he was coming down with a cold or something.

He hoped Dean was having better luck with the witnesses.

Sam glanced down at his watch to check the time and frowned. The hands held steady at 4:37, which was the exact time it had been the last time he'd checked.

Apparently, his battery had died.

It figured.

Sighing, Sam pulled out his phone and cursed as the time displayed itself in glowing digits. It was after 6:30 and he'd missed a call from Dean. They were supposed to meet at 6, and Sam had blasted past that time without even realizing it. His brother was probably outside waiting for him with growing impatience and Sam didn't want to be fetched from the library like a child.

Sam started gathering up his notes and piling up all the books to be returned to the librarian. Getting up proved painful as he rammed the side of his thigh against the corner of the desk. Cursing a little louder than he intended, Sam glanced around to make sure no one had heard him.

He was still alone, so at least that was a good thing.

He made short work of returning the materials and finally headed out into the cold evening. It was raining again and there was no big black car waiting for him by the curb.

At least he hadn't kept Dean waiting . . .

A sharp honk cut through the roar of the falling rain, and Sam turned to see the Impala parked in the lot beside the library. Apparently Dean has been waiting after all.

Sam rushed to the car, heedless of the puddles splashing his pant legs. They were still damp, anyway. With a sigh of relief, he pulled open the car door and folded himself inside, pausing only briefly to grimace as he smacked his head on the door frame. Not bothering to give voice to his frustration, Sam sank into the seat. The car was warm and he was happy to be out of the rain.

"You look like crap," Dean observed.

"I kinda feel like crap," Sam admitted, slouching down until his head rested on the seat behind him. "Sorry, I missed your call."

Dean gave a snort. "You were in a library. I don't think you've ever come out of one on time in your life. Here, I got you this."

Sam glanced over to see his brother holding out a coffee cup and he frowned as he realized that he'd somehow missed the enticing aroma until exactly that moment.

"It's one of those fancy, unpronounceable drinks. The barista said it was very popular with teenage girls, so you should love it."

Sam couldn't even be bothered to reply to the insult. The drink smelled delicious and he was half-afraid that he'd end up spilling it all over himself. He took the drink carefully from Dean, inhaling the pleasant and warming scent with appreciation. "It smells great, thanks. This is just what I need right now."

"I know it is," Dean smirked, "because I'm awesome."

Sam rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee, relishing the taste and the fact that he wasn't yet wearing it. His stomach grumbled loudly as the coffee hit bottom.

"Damn, didn't you eat today? It sounds like something is trying to claw its way out of there."

"I had a salad," Sam replied, not bothering to elaborate on the mess that entire endeavour had been. The lid had come off the dressing and drenched his entire meal. What should have been a delicious salad had turned into a soggy, unappetizing mess.

Dean nodded sagely. "It's like I've always said, salad won't get you through the day. Good thing I already picked up dinner. When we get back to the motel, you can chow down and then I won't have to listen to your stomach eating itself."

Sam glanced at the back seat where two take-out bags sat on the seat. "What did you get?"

"There was a deli in town and the sandwiches looked pretty good. Figured we'd had deep-fried everything for the past few days and you were going to start whining about vegetables and turkey meat soon."

Sam blinked in surprise.

"Don't give me that look, Sammy. I know you were."

As far as Sam could tell, Dean hadn't even looked at him.

"You know that because you're awesome?" Sam teased.

"Damn straight."

Stifling a smile, Sam took another gulp of coffee.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, for which Sam was grateful. He didn't want to talk about his wasted day yet. They pulled up to the room and Sam spared an angry glare for the neon light as the brothers gathered their stuff and headed inside.

Sam didn't waste a minute getting his shoes off his feet. The relief he felt at finally peeling off his damp socks was tempered only by Dean's disgusted expression.

"Your toes are all pruny and your feet stink. No, stink isn't the right word - they are _rank_."

"That's what happens when you spend the day in wet socks," Sam pointed out.

"I refuse to sleep in the same room as your funky smell," Dean protested. "More than that, I refuse to eat with you when you smell like that. You need a shower."

Sam couldn't argue with that, and he was suddenly struck by the thought that the weird smell in the library might have been coming from him. It would have embarrassed him, but he was beyond caring.

He was starving, but Dean was right; he needed to shower and it was better to get that over with. As he stripped down in the bathroom, he knew one thing was certain; Sam was going to use all the hot water he could get. He waited just long enough to make sure he wouldn't get burnt or frozen by the water before climbing in and breathing a sigh of relief. The shower proved to be gloriously warm, melting the cold tension that had plagued Sam all day. By the time he felt ready to emerge from the spray, the entire bathroom had been filled with gently-wafting clouds of steam. Apparently, Dean had grabbed clothes for him, depositing them for him on the small vanity just inside the bathroom door, and Sam couldn't help but smile.

Comfortable, warm, and soft . . . just what he needed.

He dressed and walked out of the bathroom in a billow of steam, smiling good-naturedly at Dean's knowing look.

It was then that he noticed the window.

"What happened to the curtain?" Sam asked in surprise.

An extra blanket had been strung carefully over the curtain rod, bunched at the top and duct-taped at the sides to block out any sign of neon light.

"Stupid light was shining in here all night," Dean replied with a shrug. "It was too bright. Didn't figure you'd mind."

"I don't," Sam assured him quickly. "I like it dark, too."

"I know you do," Dean replied with a nod. "Like I said, I'm awesome. Now are you ready to eat, or what? There's a monster movie marathon on in half an hour and I picked up beer earlier."

Sam made his way over to the table where Dean had laid out their dinner. He actually felt his mouth water at the sight of it.

"Everything a health-food nut could ask for, right Sammy?" Dean was apparently done waiting for Sam and started stuffing food into his mouth.

Sam nodded, somehow not really surprised that in less than an hour his brother had managed to turn a crappy day into a good one without even knowing that he was doing it.

"You're right about one thing, Dean," Sam said. "You're pretty awesome sometimes."


	9. You shouldn't have come here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys hunt a witch

Sorry this one is late. Turns out that it's actually kinda hard to come up with a different story for every single day and get it written in time. Who knew? lol

Hopefully, I will get caught up this weekend.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

"You know, just _once_ I would like to walk through the woods without getting _rained_ on!" Dean's exasperated proclamation was met with a grin from his brother, which only served to annoy the elder Winchester more. "Seriously, wasn't it sunny when we left this morning? I'm pretty sure it was sunny when we left this morning."

He scowled as a trickle of water ran off the end of his nose.

"Maybe the rain is a reflection of your mood," Sam offered. "You've been a little grumpy lately."

"I'm delightful," Dean countered, reaching up to grab a tree branch. He gave it a solid shake, sending a cascade of water in all directions which caught his brother off guard. Sam cursed as he was hit in the face with the spray and Dean couldn't help but smile in response.

"You got yourself wet, too," Sam pointed out.

Dean shrugged. "Small price to pay."

Sam let out an irritated sigh. "Any idea how much farther?"

_Back to business, then._

"Shouldn't be too far," Dean replied. "We're almost to the hills, so I'd guess the caves can't be far behind."

"Which means the witch might not be far, either. Better watch for traps."

With a nod, Dean continued on. He hated witches; he really, _really_ hated them. They were bad enough when they were soccer moms or bored teenagers, but this one was apparently an outdoorsy one who believed that her spells would be stronger when she was in the heart of nature.

Sam had confirmed the possibility, with the caution that they didn't yet know where her power was coming from - she could be just a regular person learning from a book or she could have joined forces with a demonic entity. Either way, it was better to assume that she would be powerful and risk being unimpressed by her abilities than the other way around.

"With any luck, she won't know we're coming," Dean said.

Neither brother put much stock in their luck holding.

It took another half-hour of trudging before they reached the hills and another fifteen minutes before they found the entrance to the cave system.

Peering down the dark tunnel, Dean frowned. "This witch is pretty devoted. She came a long way out here to cast a simple murder spell."

"If that's what she's doing," Sam countered. "Really, hiding a hex bag and then hiking for hours to a cave to recite the spell? Maybe she's up to something else."

Dean didn't want to think about that. There had been four murders so far and each victim had been connected with a company that had been linked to illegal chemical dumping. The suspected witch, Shauna Williams, had been seen arguing with every victim prior to their deaths. She had also been forced from her home due to the contamination from said chemical dumping. That fact, and the presence of hex bag materials at her apartment, had led to it being a fairly open-and-shut case.

Or so Dean had thought, but Shauna was definitely going above and beyond if she did this for every casting.

There was nothing they could do about it, either way. If she was a witch and killing people, she needed to be stopped, no matter how Dean felt about people who dumped chemicals near unsuspecting towns.

The elder hunter fished out his flashlight and gun, waiting until Sam followed suit. The sooner they went in the dark and creepy caves, the sooner they could ice the witch and get the hell out of the woods.

Dean led the way, not giving Sam the chance to get into the tunnel first. Even from in front he could almost see Sam's fond eye-roll.

Both brothers kept their eyes peeled for traps and the guns loaded with witch-killing bullets at the ready. Neither wanted to be caught off guard.

In the end, off guard was exactly how they were caught.

Everything seemed normal until there was a brilliant flash of light and Dean felt himself propelled off his feet and into a wall. His ears rang and he couldn't see anything other than bright blobs of light floating in his vision.

"Hello, boys." It had to be Shauna. Her voice was low, almost sultry, and Dean wanted nothing more than to put a bullet into her. He couldn't see well enough yet, though, and he couldn't risk hitting his brother.

"Shauna? We're just here to talk." Sam was doing the calm tone that he usually reserved for traumatized witnesses rather than murderous witches, but Dean wasn't about to argue.

"Talk? With guns?" Shauna snorted. "Please, you must think I'm incredibly stupid."

A few more blinks had Dean's eyesight clear enough that he could make out the shapely blonde standing in the centre of the cavern. She was dressed in hiking clothes, but it looked like she'd bought them at a very expensive store. Her hands were outstretched as though ready to send the brothers back into another wall, but she was holding off. A quick glance to his right revealed Sam where he sat crouched by the wall. His hands were spread wide, as though to show he wasn't a threat, and he was slowly climbing to his feet.

The bad part was that he wasn't just acting. Sam was no longer holding his gun, so he wasn't a threat at all. He couldn't tell if Sam had dropped it or if he had simply chosen not to use it, but either way, Dean felt a jolt of adrenaline run through him at the risk his brother was taking.

He raised his own gun, ready to take the woman out, but with one gesture she sent the weapon careening from his hand to disappear into a dark corner of the rock-filled room. She hadn't even looked at him.

Sam managed to stand and he shook his head at the witch's words. "You're not stupid, Shauna. You're in a lot of danger, though. These are dark powers you're using . . . and they come at a price."

Dean glanced around the room, letting Sam distract her while he tried to see what else he could use to take the witch out. Without the special bullets, his options were limited. There was an altar behind her, lined with candles that provided the flickering mood lighting in the cave. If he could get there, Dean could destroy it . . . but she'd seen him raise his gun without so much as glancing his way. He was quick, but he had to admit his chances of making it to the altar were slim.

The witch tapped her fingers against her thigh, seemingly unconcerned about having two hunters crashing her party. "I know there's a price, but it's one I'm willing to pay."

"You'll go to Hell." Sam said bluntly. "Whatever they promised you, it isn't worth it. Stop now, please, before it's too late for you."

"That's where you're wrong," the blonde retorted. "It is absolutely worth it, and that price we were talking about? Turns out I can pay it after all, thanks to you boys."

She turned and walked behind her altar, not caring that her back was temporarily turned to the hunters.

"What did you mean by that?" Dean took the opportunity to regain his feet and walk closer to the altar.

"You shouldn't have come here," the woman said with a small shake of her head.

"Oh, the murderous witch thinks we shouldn't have come here, Sammy," Dean rolled his eyes. "Imagine that."

"I don't think you're helping," Sam muttered back.

Dean walked towards the witch, not bothering to hide his approach. "What exactly are you trying to do here?"

The witch had mixed items in a bowl in front of her, but Dean couldn't make out what they were. It didn't matter what they were - under their present circumstances, nothing good would come of it.

"Don't get too close, Dean," Shauna warned. "You won't like the jolt you'll get."

The elder Winchester felt the worried glance Sam shot at him the moment Shauna mentioned of his name.

_Just how the hell did the witch know who he was?_

"As for the answer to your question, well . . . the price I promised to pay was you two." Shauna raised her hand before the hunters could react, tossing something into the bowl that erupted in a burst of flames and smoke.

When the smoke cleared, a man was standing in the cavern, a deep scowl on his features.

Sam swore and Dean echoed the sentiment.

Shauna had summoned a demon.

Said demon was sharply dressed in an outfit better suited for a business meeting than spelunking. He looked around, raising an eyebrow at the Winchester brothers before turning back to the witch.

"Shauna, Shauna, Shauna," the demon crooned with a small shake of his head. "What on earth made you think _you_ could summon _me_? I don't think you understand how this relationship works."

Shauna paled slightly, but her voice shook only slightly when she spoke. "I have the Winchesters for you, just like you wanted."

Dean and Sam exchanged worried looks, but before they could move, the demon had turned to them.

"Just stay right there, boys," he said, raising his hand. "I'll be with you in a second."

He didn't pin them to the walls, but Dean didn't think for a second that that particular good fortune would last. He reached down slowly, feeling for the handle of the demon-killing knife.

"You wanted them dead," Sauna continued as if they hadn't been interrupted. "That was our deal."

"Yes," the demon replied through clenched teeth. "I wanted them _dead_. The deal was that _you_ kill them and _I_ help you attain your powers. Nowhere in our discussion was it _ever_ said that I wanted to be a part of the process. Had that been the case, I would have simply killed them _myself_!"

Shauna looked stunned and frightened.

The timing was never going to get better. Both brothers suddenly burst into motion.

Sam darted forward, long arms reaching for the altar and sweeping it clear, wrecking any chance Shauna had to cast a new spell. Just as the various items hit the ground in a cascade of breaking glass and scattered herbs, Dean reached the demon.

He didn't even pause as he brought the knife up into the startled demon's ribcage, piercing his heart in a crackle of orange light.

"No!" Shauna cried. She ran forward, reaching for the demon only to be intercepted by Sam. He held the witch back as the suit-clad demon crumpled to the ground.

"You ruined everything!" Shauna screamed, shaking her arm free of Sam's grip so she could drop to her knees by the body of the dead demon. "He was going to make me powerful!"

"He was going to take your soul to Hell," Sam corrected her.

"And more importantly - you were going to kill us," Dean interrupted. "What the hell, lady?"

Shauna stared at the dead body of her benefactor. "He was going to make a name for himself by taking out the Winchesters. He was going to become the leader of Hell and I was going to be his queen!"

Sam shook his head, no doubt ready to explain all the ways in which that statement was wrong, but Dean beat him to the punch.

"Shauna, you made a deal with a demon; it was his power, not yours. You were going to get double-crossed and screwed over. _You killed people_."

Shauna shook her head, anger crossing her features. "I failed at the _one task_ he asked of me!"

She suddenly burst into motion, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a hex bag. She held it aloft in one swift movement, shouting the incantation that would unleash whatever unholy spell she had up her sleeve.

Dean was plunging the knife into her heart before she ever got the chance to finish.

"Is this going to kill her?" he questioned his brother even as he watched Shauna's face grow lax in death. "I mean, kill her for good?"

Sam nodded slowly. "I think so. Without her demon or her altar, she really was just a regular person with a bit of knowledge. It should work like a regular knife on her . . . probably."

Dean let out a relieved sigh, then pondered the hesitance in his brother's voice as he said _probably_.

"I guess we made a few more enemies, then," Sam observed.

"Nothing new there," Dean replied. He peered at the bodies at his feet. "Maybe I should shoot her with a witch-killing bullet, just in case."

"Are you serious?" The incredulous look on Sam's face almost made Dean laugh.

"Really, do you want to risk her having another demon friend or something help her out? I don't want to have her popping back up the second my back is turned. I've seen enough horror movies, thanks."

Sam, ever the pragmatist, couldn't disagree.

Dean turned and started scanning the rocky ground for his lost gun so he could shoot the already-probably-dead witch before disposing of two bodies and hiking back to town in the rain.

It was shaping up to be a pretty crappy evening.

"Hey, Sammy, have I ever told you how much I hate witches?"


	10. You think this troubles me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam runs into problems with local law enforcement

Challenge 10 - You think this troubles me?

* * *

Sam was well and truly screwed.

It was a state with which he was sadly familiar, but that didn't change the fact that he was in serious trouble with no idea how he was going to get out of it.

He sat quietly in the back of the police car and watched all the activity around him with growing anxiety. There were too many people around for him to try running even if he managed to get out of the locked car or get the handcuffs off his wrists. Cops and rubber-neckers were crowding the scene, and Sam was glad that the police tape at least kept the curious bystanders far enough away that he wouldn't end up on youtube or something.

There was nothing else he could do but sit there while the local sheriff talked to someone on his cell phone and shot suspicious glances in Sam's direction. There were three deputies who milled about, ostensibly securing the scene, but in reality they were merely trampling on the evidence. They probably represented every deputy in the county. Sam was okay with them inadvertently obscuring what had happened in the old house, but he really needed to finish what he had come there to do in the first place before the angry spirit killed someone.

Sam twisted his wrists, but he could tell from long experience that he wasn't getting free without a key or lockpicks, and he had neither. His only hope was his brother, but he wasn't even sure that Dean had gotten his message. He had only had enough time to send a single word of warning before he was surrounded and unceremoniously arrested for breaking and entering and impersonating a police officer.

In his defence, he hadn't exactly introduced himself as a police officer to anyone. He was just carrying the ID, but that didn't change the fact that it was clearly fake if one knew what they were looking at, and the local sheriff obviously did.

His phone, weapons, and lockpick had been seized, which was inconvenient, but it was the fact that at the time of his arrest he had a Latin cleansing spell and a shrivelled human foot in his possession that tipped the scale from _inconvenienced_ to _completely screwed_.

He still wasn't certain what had alerted the local law to his presence in the abandoned house - probably a nosy neighbour. Nosy neighbours could be both a blessing and a bane to hunters.

Whatever the case, they weren't going to let a man toting around human remains and a fake ID out of their sight. He was probably the most exciting case ever to pop up in Nowheresville, USA.

Movement beside his window startled him and Sam looked up to see the sheriff peering in at him. Sam mustered a tight-lipped smile, trying not to look particularly threatening or insane.

The sheriff sighed and opened the front door, sliding into the driver's seat with a groan that indicated he probably had a bad back.

"Son, you are in a world of trouble," the sheriff announced needlessly, looking at Sam in the rearview mirror.

"That's kind of what I was thinking," Sam agreed.

"Do you want to tell us where your partner is? The fellow you were texting when we caught you?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and shrugged in feigned innocence. "What partner?"

"Right." The sheriff sighed again and started the car.

"What's going to happen now?" Sam asked as they pulled away from the house, leaving the deputies to work the scene.

" _Now_ , I take you back to the station where we run your prints and try to figure out who the hell you really are. _Then_ we try to figure out whose foot you have and whether you're some kind of confused kook or someone who gets off on performing satanic mumbo jumbo with human remains. And _then_ we get you to tell us where your partner is so we can do the same with him."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "You put something in the trunk earlier. Was it the foot?"

The sheriff sat up straighter at his words. "Damn, boy! That is not the question you want to ask when we're trying to figure out if you're a nutcase or not."

"I'm not a nutcase," Sam replied, "and you don't want to know what's going on with that foot." He couldn't very well tell the cop that he still needed to cleanse and burn the foot to put a vengeful spirit to rest, so he fell silent. It wasn't like the other man would believe him anyway.

"You think this troubles me? The severed foot and the satanic spells?" The cop let out a bitter laugh. "Son, you're not as scary as you seem to think. That is, unless you want to confess that you're somehow responsible for those attacks that have been happening around here."

The statement was more of a question, but Sam didn't respond. He had been trying to _stop_ the attacks, but it wasn't an argument that would hold much weight in a court of law.

Instead, he turned his attention to his window, signalling the end to the conversation.

Sam pondered his options as he stared into the night. He didn't want to hurt the sheriff, but it looked like he'd have to make his move when he was being transferred from the car into the station. He'd take the cop down, grab the keys to his cuffs, and steal the car. He could be long gone with the ritual completed before they could do anything to stop him -

_There!_

Sam had to stop himself from reacting as they drove past a side street - a side street from which a very familiar black car pulled out and casually began following the police car at a safe distance.

_Dean was there._

The relief was palpable. Sam would have attempted his own escape, but knowing that he had backup made the entire endeavour seem less prone to failure. This way, he didn't even have to get the keys; as soon as he took down the sheriff, his brother would be there to help him get the foot and get out of town.

Win-win.

Except it wasn't ever going to be that easy and Sam should have known better.

The Impala drove past the station as the police car pulled in and Sam watched his brother turn down the next street. Dean would park and make his way over before Sam made his move. It wouldn't be long now.

The sheriff pulled up directly out front of the small station and turned off the car.

Sam waited patiently, trying not to look like he was tensing to attack.

The sheriff circled the car and reached for the handle just as the door to the station opened and two deputies came hurrying out to assist their boss.

Sam let out a small hiss of disappointment. He couldn't easily take out all three with his hands cuffed behind him, at least not before he got taken down himself. He tried to look past the cops for Dean, but didn't get the chance to find him as the door was opened and he was tugged out of the car with surprisingly little force.

"Take him in and get him fingerprinted," the sheriff ordered. "I want everything you can find out about him as soon as possible."

One deputy took Sam's arm and the other followed a step behind as they headed into the station. Sam watched for Dean, waiting for his signal to move, but he couldn't spot his brother anywhere.

The deputy behind him gave him a small push toward the door and Sam was forced to enter the building. He let out a worried huff as the window for escape disappeared with the gentle click of the closing door.

He could only hope that Dean had a plan.

The deputies led him to an interrogation room where his handcuffs were removed so his hands could be re-secured to the table. With that done, the cops left him alone, presumably to get their fingerprinting materials. Sam could only hope the station hadn't been updated to digital printing technology or he'd be identified even faster.

He fidgeted in his seat as he tried to loosen the cuffs, finally tugging at them sharply in a fit of frustration.

A sudden piercing siren rang out through the building, making Sam wince at the screeching noise.

There was no way a sudden fire alarm wasn't connected to his brother.

Then the lights went out.

Sam sat up straighter.

It was _definitely_ Dean's doing.

He turned to the door, startled as he heard shouting from the hallway and the sounds of boots running full-tilt past his room. Only moments later, the door opened and Dean hurried in, a cocky grin on his face.

"Took you long enough," Sam groused, knocking a little bit of the smugness out of his brother's expression - but only a little.

"Did they print you yet?" Dean asked, wasting no time bending over to pick the locks holding Sam's cuffs to the table.

Sam shook his head. "They didn't have time."

"Then it didn't take me too long to rescue you, princess," Dean said with a triumphant smirk as the cuffs clicked open.

"There's still the small matter of the human foot that's now somewhere in the station," Sam replied even as he sprang to his feet and headed for the door. "We can't leave without it."

Dean was only a step behind him. "It should be right in the front lobby. The sheriff would have just gotten inside when the fire alarm went off. No way is he taking his evidence with him to put out a fire, so he probably dumped it there. Cutting the power knocked out the security cameras and if we hurry, we should be able to grab the foot and walk out the front door without ending up on tape."

Dean sounded impossibly pleased with himself.

Sam cautiously opened the door and peered into the hallway to determine if the coast was clear. "Dean, is that smoke? Did you start an _actual_ fire?"

"Just a small one," Dean protested. "They had an extinguisher nearby."

Sam didn't waste his breath trying to berate his brother. They raced to the lobby where a large black duffel bag was resting haphazardly on a desk. Dean made a triumphant sound that Sam ignored.

Sam reached for the duffel, unzipping it far enough to tell that it held several evidence bags, one of which contained a human foot and another of which seemed to have his phone.

"Got it!" he announced with a grin.

They didn't linger to press their luck. Rarely did they get a chance for a clean getaway and neither hunter wanted to miss the opportunity. Besides, they still had work to do and a shrivelled body part to burn.

The brothers dashed for freedom, disappearing into the night as the fire alarm wailed behind them.


	11. But I will never forget!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean understands everything, except for why Sam is so worried . . .

_A little bit of a different one today . . ._

* * *

"Sam, I understand it!" Dean's voice cracked with emotion, which had Sam looking up at him in alarm. "I understand _everything_!"

"Just calm down, Dean, everything is going to be fine," Sam replied in a voice that was no doubt meant to be soothing, but he just didn't _get it_. He didn't even move from his stupid computer. He didn't see how all the answers were right there in front of him because he wouldn't turn off the screen. It was almost more than Dean could bear and Sam couldn't grasp it.

Dean. Understood. _Everything_.

There were no secrets. The stains on the ceiling - he knew what they meant; the deeper purpose they held was no longer hidden to him.

Every crease on his brother's forehead was a story that he could read as easily as a text message from the universe.

The dust floating in the air around him, illuminated by the first rays of the morning light -

_The sun_.

_God,_ the sun was beautiful.

He could reach out and touch the beams of light and they didn't even burn. They should probably burn. The sun was so hot.

Dean was hot.

Maybe the sun was burning him and his skin was immune. The sun was burning his insides and leaving his outsides untouched.

"Sammy, the sun is gonna cook me!"

_That_ got a reaction.

Sam got to his feet and hurried to the window, pulling the curtain closed. His movements stirred up more dust, but without the sun's enchanting light, they were diminished, mournful even. Sombre and sad, pathetic flecks of shed human skin and pollen crying out for the light with silent screams -

"Dean?" Sam was in front of him. Dean blinked when his brother reached out to wipe something off Dean's face. His skin was wet. _Was he crying?_

"Dean, listen to me. You're going to be okay. I promise. I'm working on a way to get you better, do you understand?"

Dean nodded. He understood everything. He comprehended more than he'd ever thought possible. Sam's forehead told of fear, worry, doubt, and pain. It wasn't pain for himself and Dean knew deep in his core that Sam felt that pain for him.

He reached out and traced the deepest line in his brother's skin, trying to erase it - trying to give Sam that peace that had eluded him for so long.

Sam gently pulled his hand away and Dean shook his head. "I can fix it, Sammy. You have to let me fix it."

With a shuddering breath, Sam smiled faintly. "I'm going to fix everything. You have nothing to worry about. Why don't you lie down for a minute?"

Sam pushed his brother gently back until he was resting against a pillow, but Dean didn't want to lie down. He didn't want to sleep. He needed to talk. He needed to tell his brother all the things he _knew_ now that he couldn't have seen before. He needed to make sure he never forgot the depth of meaning under the mundane blanket of existence.

The softness of the bedding.

The cracks in the wall.

The smell of day-old pizza wafted through the room on air currents that Dean had never seen before, but he could now. How could he have missed them for his entire life? How could he never have seen the smells and tastes that drifted all around him?

"The air tastes like pizza."

There was a small sound of worry, but Sam didn't respond. His brother had moved back to his computer at some point, and Dean was suddenly struck by the fact that he could see the air and touch the sunlight, but he'd missed Sammy moving right beside him.

_Was Sam even real_?

A ringing sound sent pulses of air rushing towards him like ripples in a pond. They hit Dean one after the other, tickling his skin with the warbling trill. He wasn't certain how he felt about that, but he reached out to touch them regardless. His fingers ran across the fabric of the universe as it moved around him and the sensation of _wholeness_ filled Dean with a sense of deep and fulfilling awe.

The ringing stopped and Dean let his hand drop, only then noticing that Sam was speaking. Sam's voice didn't affect the air as much as the ringing had. His voice was softer, more of a breeze than the insistent nature of the ring.

"Bobby, please tell me you have something."

He had felt Sam's voice before he even heard it. Dean had known what Sam was going to say before the words even crossed his lips.

He was inside his brother's mind.

Climbing to his feet, he crossed the narrow room to where his brother was watching him with a fathomless gaze. Dean didn't meet his eyes, instead focusing on his brother's skull where he could see the swirling maelstrom that was his mind - the fabric of his very being. The colours swirled around him, making Dean slightly dizzy as he watched the complex dance play out. How could Sam function with such a tumultuous brain?

"I still have it, what do I need to do with it?"

There was a faint buzzing sound as the voice in Sam's phone rumbled through the room and bounced off the bathroom mirror.

Intrigued, Dean followed the sound and found himself staring into eternity.

He saw himself, pupils blown into wide-eyed blackness, but he knew he wasn't a demon. He could feel it as he stared at the other Dean in the mirror, his dark reflection who stared back at him with a cold gaze.

"You're sure that will work? I have a kettle and a copper bowl . . . how long does it have to be kept boiling, because it won't stay hot for long . . ."

The Dean in the mirror reached up and flicked Sam's voice away, sending it careening into the depths.

Dean stepped back, trying to pull himself away as a sense of unease filled him. There was darkness and misery in that mirror and it terrified him.

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam said somewhere in the background and Dean wanted to scream for him, but his voice wouldn't work.

The other Dean didn't move, but his very presence promised the coming of terror and the smell of blood.

Dean needed to warn his brother. He needed to stop it.

_He needed to break the mirror . . ._

He rushed forward, slamming his hand against the glass with all of his might. Fragments of glass floated around him, each one filled with the malevolent gaze of his doppelganger. Dean was struck with the sudden thought that maybe he had just released the creature he had sought to destroy -

Hands were on him; his brother hands and his concerned words cocooned Dean from the falling glass as it bounced harmlessly around his body and fell lazily to the ground.

"Dean!"

The dust was fleeing. It was afraid of what was coming.

"I have to tell you," Dean muttered, grabbing Sam's arm in an inescapable grip of desperation. "I need to warn you-"

"You need to lie down. I have a cure, but it's gonna take a few minutes. I need you to stay still, Dean, please?"

He found himself turned back to the bed, once again made to sit as his brother rushed over to the counter and hurriedly filled the kettle.

Dean's head was swimming. He needed to warn Sam, but he was forgetting it. The thoughts were too heavy and they were dropping from his ears. He tried to keep them in by covering his head with his hands, but they slipped out from between his fingers.

"I can't forget to remember," he muttered. "I need to remember."

"Not much longer, Dean. Hold on."

Sam pulled some kind of rodent out of a bag and dropped it into a large bowl before pouring boiling water over it.

The air swirled angrily over the bowl, as though protesting against whatever was being done.

Dean looked away and wished he hadn't.

The bathroom light cast a dark shadow across the floor and it crept towards him with sinister purpose, like a thick fog of nothing but pure evil.

It swallowed the thoughts that had fallen to the floor, devouring them before Dean's horrified eyes.

"You're trying to make me forget," he gasped, "but I will never forget!"

His breath caught in his throat as he choked on the thick air trying to work it's way into his mouth. He couldn't let it in; he couldn't let it make him forget -

"Dean! Come on, don't do this! I need you to drink this!"

Sam's hands were on him again, sweeping away the fog as he brought something up to Dean's lips.

Without even being aware of what he was doing, Dean drank the liquid that found its way past his lips. He gagged on the taste, the colour red that burned its way down his esophagus, the feeling of claws tearing at him as they ripped into his senses.

He might have cried out, but he didn't know if his voice was truly his own. He couldn't tell how long the agony lasted - it could have been hours or days, maybe even centuries, but it consumed him, burning him bare for an eternity.

And suddenly, it was over.

The pain fled and he was left exhausted and sweat-drenched, lying on the bed staring up at his brother's fear-filled eyes.

Dean blinked, trying to remember where he was and what had happened. His head ached with a dull pressure and his stomach was churning miserably, but he somehow felt _clearer_.

"Dean, are you okay?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that, but he nodded anyway, wincing at the movement. "What happened?"

Sam sat beside him on the bed. "You got bitten by a lavellan. They're pretty venomous. It sent you on a really bad trip before Bobby figured out a cure."

_Lavellan_? That was a new one.

"What the hell was a lavellan doing here? Aren't they from Scotland?" He didn't bother trying to get up. He felt like a limp noodle.

Sam nodded. "I guess it hitched a ride or something. I had never seen one before last night."

"Good thing Bobby figured out a cure."

"Yeah, good thing." Sam's voice was deceptively light, as though he wanted to talk about anything but that and Dean's eyes narrowed.

"What was the cure?"

"You just had to drink a concoction and it counteracted the venom," Sam replied. "I almost thought it was too late, you've been out almost a day."

"What was in the concoction?" Dean asked, a faint memory tickling his senses. Sam was definitely trying to change the subject. "Sam?"

Sam let out an awkward cough. "Turns out that you can counter the effects by boiling the lavellan head in water and drinking it."

Dean swallowed a gag at the thought. "You made me drink _boiled lavellan head_?"

"It worked," Sam tilted his head and smiled apologetically. "Honestly, though, how are you feeling? You were pretty high there for awhile."

The sudden serious tone in his brother's voice told Dean everything he needed to know about how the previous day had gone. Sam had been worried; it had been a close call.

Dean felt a trickle of unease run through him. Sam had reason to be worried, that much he recalled, but the nature of his experience was muted somehow, like it had happened in a barely remembered dream.

There was something, though, something _important_ that he needed to say . . .

"Hey. You with me?" Sam patted Dean's shoulder lightly, jarring his thoughts and bringing him back to the present.

The darkness flickering at the edge of his vision dissipated in an instant, leaving only the ancient motel room with its cracked walls and water-stained ceiling.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean said with a forced smile. "I'm with you."


	12. Who could do this?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam meets a girl and she wants him to stay with her. Forever.

Sam pressed himself into the corner of the room, as far as he could get from the young woman who stood staring at him with baleful eyes.

"You cannot leave!" she intoned, her expression pitiless as she looked down at him. "We will be together forever!"

"No," Sam said firmly, his voice as steady as he could hope for under the circumstances. "I'm going home and you're going to let me go."

The woman laughed, the sound light and melodious and totally incongruous with her serious countenance. "You are mine now, Sam Winchester. You will stay with me forever."

Sam wished he knew exactly what he was dealing with, but it was clear that the woman was not as human as she appeared at first glance. Despite her deep-green dress and long blonde hair, there was an unnatural quality about her. She was slight of build and had skin that was far too pale to be human. That had been unusual enough, but she had also been strong enough to bring Sam to his knees when he'd tried to leave her cabin. She'd expended no effort when she had grabbed him, leaving Sam with no way out of her inhuman grip. His arm throbbed mercilessly where she'd twisted the limb with unnatural strength and he could only be grateful that she had ultimately released him. Apparently, she didn't want him broken before he'd served his purpose.

Whatever that purpose was.

He wasn't even certain how he had ended up in the cabin in the first place. The last thing he remembered was going to bed in the motel room before waking up with the face of the blonde woman smiling down at him in a most unsettling way.

He was unarmed and didn't have his phone to call his brother for help. The fact that he was still in his pyjamas hadn't escaped his notice, either. He was barefoot, dressed only in sweat pants and a t-shirt, which did little to stave off the chill of the night.

There was a fireplace in the cabin, but it was unused. The only light came from a single candle sitting on the mantle, which did little to dispel the oppressive darkness. The woman's skin almost seemed to glow in the flickering candlelight.

She gazed at him, unperturbed by his response to her statements. She was not prone to conversation, refusing to say much more than informing him he would be remaining there with her for the foreseeable future.

And she didn't seem inclined to let him out of her sight.

Sam stood taller and stared her down again. It hadn't gone so well the first time, but he had nothing else to try.

"Let me go," he ordered.

"Never," she replied with a cold smile.

Her words felt like ice down his spine. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

"You are mine. You will -"

" _Stay with you forever_ ," Sam cut her off. "Right. That's not happening." He glanced around the room again, hoping to see something that might help him. The entire place was bare, aside from a small table under the window. Somehow he doubted that attacking her with a nightstand would be very effective.

"Okay," he said, "how about this? How about you tell me how I got here? Can you at least do that?"

"You came to me," she replied. "You heard my call and followed me here."

"That's . . . not good." Sam ran a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair. He had no memory of following anyone anywhere. He glanced down at his chilled feet, surprised to see them liberally coated in dirt and blood. With the cold numbing them, they didn't hurt, but he'd clearly done them some damage to them - the kind of damage that could have come from walking barefoot through a forest in the middle of the night.

Another thought struck him.

"Where's my brother? Did you call to him, too?"

The creature didn't blink her unnaturally pale eyes, but she answered him. "I only called to you."

That was a relief, at least.

He moved then, circling slowly around the creature to get closer to the door. Maybe he could get out and bar the door against her somehow . . .

"You will never leave me."

Sam shook his head. "This isn't going to work."

"You love me."

The words weren't entirely unexpected, but they still gave Sam a burst of adrenaline. Deciding that it was as good a time as any to make an escape, he spun and raced for the door, reaching for the handle with his outstretched hand -

Only to be pulled back at the last second by a supernaturally strong grip with left him hitting the far wall with a bone-jarring impact.

Sam fell to his side on the floor, gasping for breath as the woman stood over him. She didn't appear angry at his actions, and Sam briefly wondered what exactly she would have done to him if he'd made her mad.

His head throbbed from where it had smacked against the wall and he fought a wave of dizziness as he tried to sit up. Questing fingers found a lump on the back of his skull and when he drew his hand back, blood coated his digits.

"You bleed," the woman said, her voice sounding oddly distant. "Let me taste it."

Sam's eyes widened as she stepped closer and he quickly wiped his bloody hand on his shirt. He scrambled backwards, trying to stay out of her reach, but she was fast.

She held him by the shoulders, leaning her head close to his as she inhaled deeply.

"So fresh," she whispered. "Let me taste it."

"Get off me!" Sam cried, trying to push her away. "Stay away!"

To his surprise, she gave a small huff of displeasure and moved away. Sam was left huddled against the wall, his hands still raised defensively against her.

She watched him with unnerving intensity and he forced himself once again to his feet.

He held his throbbing arm close to his body and wished he had something to wipe away the blood on the back of his head. The thought that she might just give in to her obvious desire to lick the blood from his wound turned his stomach.

_Who could do this_? What kind of creature could call to him, luring him into the woods without his knowledge?

She wasn't a crocotta; she hadn't used the voice of a loved one and she didn't seem interested in devouring his soul. Whatever she was, it was something he had never seen before. She was strong. She was fast. She wanted to taste his blood, but apparently wanted him to be willing to share it . . .

_She had called to him, luring him into the woods._

That was the key.

_She wanted him to love her_ . . .

And suddenly, a possibility pitched itself to the forefront of his mind.

"You're a skogsrå, aren't you?" he asked, surprise colouring his voice. "A wood-wife?"

She smiled at him again. "I am your love. You will be faithful to me. Forever."

Sam bit his lip, contemplating just how screwed he was. Forever wasn't going to be as long as the creature implied.

A skogsrå was the more malicious version of a Scandinavian wood-wife; a fairy of nature. But while a wood-wife could bestow luck on a man in the woods, a skogsrå tended toward darker purposes. If Sam couldn't find a way past her to freedom, she would eventually succeed in bewitching him into loving her and she would drain his life force completely. Even if he managed to make good an immediate escape, she would simply call to him again the next night, and every night after, until he finally succumbed and ran right back into her waiting arms.

He needed to kill her to stop her and the odds weren't looking good.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me think on it before committing to forever?" Sam asked, speaking just to break the oppressive silence.

She didn't answer.

An idea came to him, and he tried to keep his expression neutral.

"How about a fire? Can I make a fire? I'm pretty cold, here," he pointed out, gesturing to his bare feet. "You could get me some firewood; I'm assuming you don't want me to freeze to death before-"

_Before what?_

Before she sucked him dry? Before she killed him?

It wasn't a pleasant line of thought.

When the skogsrå didn't respond, he decided to risk moving again. He circled his way warily to the fireplace, noting that she watched every move he made and never turned her back on him.

He wondered idly if the lore was true and her back was covered in bark and then immediately decided that he didn't care.

Leaning down, he peered into the dark fireplace and hoped for the best. He made a show of sweeping out the ashes with his bare hand and that was when he felt it.

It wasn't much, just a broken piece of a grate or andiron, but it was enough. Fairies of almost every kind were said to be vulnerable to iron and it was Sam's only chance.

He clutched the jagged chunk of metal in his hand, hiding it from view before he stood.

"You know," he said slowly. "Maybe you're right. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad."

Turning to the skogsrå, he pasted a smile onto his face and stepped towards her. "You're very pretty."

The skogsrå let her expression soften in response and she didn't back away from him. "You will be mine and stay with me forever."

Sam nodded slowly. He was so close, he could have leaned down and kissed her. "Right. Forever."

Reaching out, he ran his fingers through her hair, feeling the silken strands as they slid from his grasp. She made a pleased sound and Sam repeated the motion, but this time he grabbed her tresses in a tight grip of desperate strength and pulled until her head was tilted backwards. In the same moment he brought up the broken hunk of iron and slammed it down into the skogsrå's neck.

The result was instantaneous.

The skogsrå threw him back as she screamed soundlessly through her ruined throat. Even as Sam landed hard on the floor, he watched in horrified fascination as the skogsrå writhed in agony. The iron burned her skin and she couldn't seem to pull it free with her desperate clawing. With a flicker of reddish light running through her body, she fell to her knees. The look she gave Sam promised a horrible and brutal end. She crawled forward, reaching for him even as her body betrayed her.

Sam scrambled away from her, but she grabbed his ankle and yanked him towards her.

The hunter kicked at her with his bare foot, frantically trying to loosen her grasp.

The red light grew stronger and the skogsrå suddenly erupted into a cascade of falling wood.

Sam covered his eyes as the pieces of skogsrå hit the ground around him and only dared to look when the room fell silent and he was no longer in danger of taking a wood chip to the eyes.

His breath came in ragged gasps and the aches and pains of the past few hours came back on him with a vengeance. His head and ankle throbbed, matching the soreness in his arm. He groaned as he managed to roll over and push himself to his feet.

The first light of morning was showing itself through the small window, dispelling some of the cold dread that had filled Sam since he'd woken up in the isolated cabin.

There was no sign of the skogsrå beyond the chunks of mangled wood that littered the cabin floor around him. The hunk of broken iron sat in the middle of the debris field, looking entirely unchanged despite the chaos it had caused.

Sam reached down and picked the metal up. He could only hope that there would be no more fairies in the woods, but he needed to get back to civilization and he wasn't about to make the journey unarmed.

With one last mournful look at his bare feet, Sam gathered himself up and crossed to the door.

He had a long walk ahead of him.


	13. Try harder next time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the universe just has it out for you

"Ernie! Long time, no see, buddy!"

The voice was unexpected; both grating and unwelcome in equal measures.

Turning to his left, he saw the source of the voice and gave a small groan before pasting a fake smile on his face. "Kyle. It _has_ been awhile, hasn't it?" _Not nearly long enough._

Kyle grinned broadly and patted the bar stool next to him. "They finally let you out, did they? I'll tell you, Ernie, I wasn't expecting to see you for another ten-to-fifteen!"

"Actually, it's _Ernest,_ not Ernie-"

"Right! I forgot. Can I buy you a beer?"

Ernest hesitated, which apparently Kyle took for acquiescence as he gestured to the bartender for another round for his _old friend_.

They had never been what Ernest would have classed as friends. He could only handle Kyle in short doses, usually even then only when there were others around to lessen the contact. Kyle was just too damned happy all the time and it wasn't normal. It was like every statement he made just called for an exclamation point and had to be spoken in a voice just shy of an enthusiastic shout.

It annoyed Ernest to no end.

Better to get the meet-and-greet over with so he could get back to more serious matters. He climbed onto the stool and accepted the drink that the sour-faced bartender slid over. No doubt the man was as tired of Kyle as Ernest was already.

"So, Ernie, how was it this time?" Kyle asked, taking a deep swig of his own beer.

"It's _Ernest_ , and I dunno," Ernest shrugged. "It was Hell, Kyle, what do you expect?"

Kyle smiled. "I haven't been back in decades. Just wondered if the old place had changed much."

"Not as much as you'd think. Still Hell." _Unfortunately._

"The new body isn't bad, though, right? What are you wearing? Some sort of homeless guy?"

_Homeless?_ Ernest looked down at himself. Torn jeans, dirty shoes, rumpled shirt . . . "Uh, he's some kind of student, I think. Really? You get homeless from this? That's a little judgmental, not to mention insensitive, Kyle."

Kyle waved away his protest. "Don't take things so personally, Ernie. I know what it's like when you first get out. You take what's available. You can move up later."

"Like you."

If Kyle caught the sarcasm in Ernest's voice, he didn't let on.

"This, my friend, is style incarnate." He gestured to his polo shirt and khaki pants with an expression that indicated utter certainty in the truth of his statement. Maybe Kyle had been topside too long. "Anyway, how long are you here for this time?"

The question caught Ernest off guard. "What are you talking about? I'm here for good."

Kyle laughed, the sound too loud and irritating to be genuine. "Buddy, you're never here for good. You slingshot back to Hell so fast, it's like you've got rubber bands attached to your ass. You know what they call it when a demon gets smoked back to Hell almost immediately after making it to earth?"

Ernest narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"They call it 'pulling an Ernie' - because that's what you always do!" Kyle's laugh drew glances from around the bar and Ernest winced.

"Not _always_ . . ." Ernest protested. Then again, he hadn't had a very good track record for the past few . . . decades. "Look, it isn't my fault. I just keep popping up right when a hunter gets into town. It sucks, but it's not like I'm planning it!"

"How many times have you been smoked by a hunter?" Kyle asked.

Ernest sighed. "I dunno. Six or seven?"

"Is it six or is it seven?"

"Seven," Ernest admitted. "I've had a bad run of luck since the 70s."

"Those were good times, but I liked the 80s better," Kyle commented. "Did you go back to get the hunters who exorcised you? A little payback and such?"

As that, Ernest laughed bitterly, attracting a few glances of his own. "I learned the hard way that it wasn't a good idea. Besides, it's not like I always get a chance."

Kyle looked very interested. "Tell me everything!"

Ernest toyed with his beer, rolling the glass between his hands. "I dunno -"

"Ernie, c'mon! Don't hold out on me!"

With a roll of his eyes, Ernest relented. "Okay. Fine. The bad luck kind of started in 1979. I was just minding my own business-"

"That's not usually what happens right before an exorcism."

"Who's telling the story?" Ernest stared at Kyle until he raised his hands in defeat. "As I was saying, I was minding my own business when this lady walks by. Now, she has a baby with her and I'm suddenly feeling pretty hungry right?"

Kyle nodded.

"Except when I go for the kid, the lady pulls out a hipflask of freakin' _holy water_ and gets me right in the face with it! I wasn't expecting it and you know how bad that stuff burns. By the time I realize that she's some kind of hunter, she's already rattled off an exorcism and I'm on my way downstairs."

"Whoa. That sucks. You got taken out by a lady with a baby?" Kyle laughed, slapping Ernest's shoulder with an open palm. "That must have been embarrassing!"

"It was almost a decade before I got to come up again, so yeah. It was a little embarrassing. The higher ups were so angry with me. I didn't think I'd ever get another chance to come back. Found out the woman was _Mary Winchester_ and she was still under contract with Azazel at the time. Boy, you wouldn't have wanted to be in my shoes, let me tell you."

Kyle's eyes were wide. "You're lucky they didn't end you completely."

Ernest couldn't argue with that, but he secretly thought that death would have been better than the torments he had suffered for his mistake. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "It didn't get much better in 1987."

"What happened in 1987?"

Ernest took a drink of his beer. "I got in a barfight. I was just letting out some steam to celebrate my first day out of Hell and it turned out the other guy was a hunter. I guess he noticed something because he waited for me in an alley and kicked me back down. It was there that they told me it was John Winchester who did the deed."

"Seriously?" Kyle sat up a little straighter. "Man, you picked a barfight with a _Winchester_? That was stupid!"

"Yup. And the fact that he was Mary's husband - well, widower by then - was just icing on the cake."

Kyle frowned. "That's . . . coincidental."

"More than coincidental; the odds are astronomical against it," Ernest argued. "Two Winchesters, one right after the other? I was pretty bitter about that. I didn't get out again until 2006 and then I had a chance to get back at John Winchester - you remember? Everyone was hunting him then. It was big stuff. An 'all hands on deck' kind of situation."

"Oh, yeah, I definitely remember that," Kyle replied letting out a low whistle. "I even tried to find him myself. Can you imagine bringing in John Winchester? That would have been something . . . You actually _found_ him?"

"Yup. Took me two days on earth before I accidentally crossed his path at a gas station. I was picking up smokes and he was just . . . there. I didn't even let myself hesitate. I attacked him and I thought, _this is my moment_ , you know? Except it didn't work out like that."

"He smoked you again?"

"Getting exorcised by the same guy twice is kind of humiliating," Ernest admitted. "At least by that time, getting topside was much easier than before. I was out again in '08, and this time things were even bigger."

"Ah, the beginning of the apocalypse. Good times!" The bartender gave Kyle a strange look as he passed by and Kyle grinned at him. "Another round, barkeep!"

Ernest sighed, but accepted the second beer even though he had yet to finish his first.

He waited until the bartender had retreated to a safe distance before resuming his tale. "I was chosen by _Lilith herself_ to set a trap for Sam Winchester. They pulled me off the rack and sent me to suburbia."

Okay, it hadn't exactly been Lilith _personally_ who recruited him, but it was a mission in her service and it was the next best thing to getting vengeance on John Winchester. He couldn't kill the already-dead father, but he could kill the son. Sam Winchester was just a kid. How much trouble could he be?

Ernest took a hearty swallow of warm beer. "He exorcised me with his _mind_."

Kyle was speechless. For once.

"Apparently, that was a thing. No one told me." Ernest was bitter about that, too. "Everyone downstairs thought it was a great joke. They all knew. From what I'm told, the guys topside knew, too. Everyone but me. Let me tell you something - you think you know what to expect in an exorcism, but that . . . there was nothing natural about that."

He polished off the first beer and turned to his second.

"Things could only go up from there, though, right?" Kyle asked, a hint of sympathy in his voice.

"Oh, yeah. Things were great after that." The beer was making him sarcastic, but Ernest didn't care. "I missed the entire apocalypse. I didn't get out again until 2011 and I was a little angry. I mean, I was doing my part, you know?"

"Sure," Kyle nodded. "It was kind of a crappy part, but it was a part."

"You're kind of a dick sometimes, Kyle."

"Well, I'm a demon, Ernie. It's part of the job."

"Well, in 2011, I was a dick, too. Any chance we could get some shots, here?"

Kyle shrugged and ordered something. Ernest didn't care what. He just wanted to blur the feelings that came along with his impromptu trip down memory lane. He took both shots, downing them one after the other as he felt the warmth spread through his body.

He'd missed that about having a human form. Alcohol was great.

"What did you do in 2011?"

"I possessed a woman on orders from Crowley. This time, I knew _exactly_ who I was going to be facing and I wasn't going to fail again. You should have seen me, Kyle," Ernest intoned. "I was brutal, I was merciless. I was _everything_ a demon should be! I held all the cards - the meat suit was Dean Winchester's girlfriend and I was more than ready to deal a little emotional pain-and-suffering to one of those arrogant d-bags, screw what Crowley wanted!"

"How long did you last?"

"Less than five minutes after Winchester showed up," Ernest admitted. "I tried so hard and I failed again."

"Try harder next time," Kyle offered. "Don't monologue; just kill them. You can't fail forever."

"That's just it! I can!" Ernest slammed his hand down on the bar in frustration. "How many times have you seen a Winchester, huh? Live and in person? Once? Twice?"

"Never," Kyle replied with a shake of his head. "And I don't really want to."

"Exactly! So how come I keep running into them? I got exorcised by Dean again in 2013 and by Sam in 2016. That's _seven_ times, Kyle! Seven!"

"Getting a little loud there, Ernie," Kyle warned, gesturing for Ernest to keep his voice down.

Wasn't that just ironic? Kyle, who couldn't be quiet to save his life was trying to hush _Ernest_ and he hadn't even wanted to talk in the first place!

"And here I am, fresh out of my latest stint in Hell, and all I can think about is how long it's gonna be before one of them smokes me again! I haven't lasted more than a few days on earth since the _70s_! I've missed everything! I don't want to go back to Hell, Kyle, I just don't!"

Kyle was looking entirely uncomfortable with the display of emotion. He patted Ernest's back with an awkwardness that betrayed his reluctance to touch the other demon.

"It's getting pretty late, buddy. I have to go and do stuff now. Demon things. You know." Kyle pulled out a wad of bills and tossed them on the bar. "Good luck, though, and you should look me up sometime. If you last, I mean."

Ernest huffed in annoyance. "Right. Fat chance of that. The universe just wants me to be a Winchester punching bag."

"Oo-kay. See you around, Ernie." Kyle was gone without another word.

" _Ernest_ ," he corrected, despite the fact that Kyle could no longer hear him. His voice lacked the vehemence of before. Who cared what they called him? It wasn't like he was going to get much of a chance to use a name anyway.

Ernest chugged down the rest of the second beer and snagged a few of the bills that Kyle had left as a tip for the bartender. With a deep and self-pitying sigh, he slid down off the barstool and turned to leave.

The door opened as he stumbled towards it.

And the universe laughed at him as Sam and Dean Winchester walked in.


	14. Some people call this wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean offers Sam some unsolicited advice

(Set in Season 2)

* * *

"Okay, so all you have to do is go up there and buy her a drink. I'm telling you Sammy, this is a done deal!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Sam frowned at his brother as the older hunter waggled his eyebrows. "What's wrong with your face?"

Dean looked affronted. "There's nothing wrong with my face! I'm talking about the girl at the bar who has been checking you out all evening."

Sam went to look, but Dean's hiss of warning stopped him in his tracks. "Dude, you can't just turn your head and look. Didn't I teach you anything? You have to play it cool. Here's what you're going to do: you're going to go up there and order another round, pretend to notice her, and then strike up a conversation."

Sam stared at Dean in shocked disbelief. "What? No!"

Dean was nodding, though, ignoring his brother's reaction. "Smile at her, flirt a little and offer to buy her a drink. Just don't laugh too much or she'll think you're already drunk."

" _What_?"

"You laugh when you're nervous and as your brother I feel I can tell you that your nervous look is completely unattractive."

"Does that mean my usual look _is_ attractive?" Sam asked, bemused.

"No. You're pretty much hideous, but when you're nervous it's worse," Dean replied without missing a beat. "Give the small talk a little time, but not too long, and then suggest you go someplace else. I'll give you the keys to the car and you can take her somewhere nice - not the motel, 'cause that place is a dump and a classy chick like her deserves better. Make sure you hold the door for her-"

"Oh my God, please stop! I don't need the highlights from the _Dean Winchester pick-up manual_!" Sam hissed as he fought a rush of embarrassment.

"Hey! Some people call this wisdom," Dean smirked. "Works for me every time."

"Yeah, well I'm not you. Maybe _you_ should go and buy her a drink."

"Dude, it's not me she's been watching," Dean pointed out. "Maybe she just has bad taste, but she's been giving you the coy smile all night. She's totally into you!"

Dean grinned and leaned back in his chair.

Sam blushed as he glanced over to the bar where a dark-haired woman was lingering. She was dressed in a short jean skirt with a low-cut top and she was definitely giving him some kind of come-hither smile. Really, though, he was pretty sure she was more Dean's type than his own and he didn't want to start something-

"Seriously?" Dean interrupted him with a huff of exasperation. "You're overthinking this. She's into you, and you haven't been on a date in months."

Sam snorted. "You don't want me to go on a _date_ , Dean. You're trying to pimp me out for a one-night stand."

"It'll be good for you," Dean said with a shrug. "I know things have been kind of rough lately -"

_That was an understatement._ Jessica's death was still an aching wound and Madison weighed heavily on his heart and mind.

"Dean, I said no," Sam said firmly, stopping his brother from listing all the reasons why hooking up would be good for him. He really didn't need to hear it. He took a swig of his beer, refusing to look in the direction of the woman at the bar.

"Okay. It's okay, Sammy. Sorry."

Guilt flooded Sam. His brother was just trying to help. For Dean, women and booze were a cure-all for anything. Add pie to the mix and Dean would be one happy hunter.

It wasn't so simple for Sam. He couldn't help but feel that anyone he got close to suffered because of it. A relationship was just not in the cards at the moment and it wasn't as though he was prone to one-night stands. Better that he just kept to himself - he could avoid getting any more innocent women hurt or killed.

"There's always that strip club down the road," Dean offered. "You don't have to talk to anyone and you can get completely drunk while listening to music. The fact that there are naked women there is just a bonus."

"You're unbelievable," Sam protested with a grimace. "Get drunk and objectify women? That's your advice?"

"Well, you don't seem to want to be a gentleman and treat one to a night on the town," Dean replied. "And you don't have to objectify anyone. You could just hang out at the buffet table being awkward."

"How about you stop trying to get me to be something I'm not?" Sam regretted the words as soon as he said them. The brief flash of hurt in Dean's eyes was covered almost immediately with another cocky expression, but Sam knew better. With Sam having been pulled back into hunting just over a year ago, the idea of him having no say in his own life was still a touchy one for both of them. "I didn't mean it like that."

Dean lifted his beer bottle in a mock salute. "I know, Sammy." It was a resigned gesture, though, meant to redirect while Dean thought of something else to say.

"You know what I need?" Sam said suddenly. He waited until he had Dean's attention before continuing. "This."

Dean looked confused.

"Just this." Sam picked at the label of his beer, trying to get his meaning across without sounding stupid. "Can't we just hang out? Can't we have a beer and kill time together without anything trying to kill us? Without worrying about getting laid or hustling pool or any of that stuff. Let's just be whatever we want right now."

"What do you want to be, Sammy?" Dean had a strange expression on his face.

Sam considered his answer. "I want to be a guy having a drink with his brother . . . with his best friend."

Dean nodded slowly and raised his beer bottle. "I think I can handle that."

With a relieved smile, Sam raised his own beer and clinked it against his brother's.

And if they were both sporting goofy grins by the time they'd put down their drinks, well, neither one felt the need to mention it.


	15. I thought you had forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ghoul hunt doesn't go as planned.

_A little bit of a depressing one today . . ._

 

* * *

"Go Dean! Now!" Sam shouted. "I'll hold it off!"

The younger Winchester had already broken the church window and was boosting the child through the opening. There was no time to waste picking a lock to the front door; the creature would be on them soon. There probably wouldn't be time to do _anything_ , but they had to try.

Alexander disappeared from view and Sam spun to keep a watch for the predator that would be on them all too quickly.

Dean hesitated, hating to leave his brother to the fight alone, but there was no choice. He had to get to the car. Without looking back, Dean dashed off into the darkened cemetery.

It was not exactly a good idea to race through the tangled maze of tombstones and overgrowth in the middle of the night, but desperation propelled Dean forward. If he failed, Sam was dead and so was the little boy they were trying to protect.

_It was supposed to be a ghoul. The signs had pointed to a ghoul_!

Two desecrated graves with gnawed-on bodies had been proof enough and when two children had gone missing one day and Alexander the next, the brothers had jumped the gun and assumed the ghoul was moving on to live prey.

In their defence, it had happened before.

They had been woefully unprepared when they raced in to the churchyard to find the stolen child, though even that hadn't entirely been their fault. They had found the boy cowering in a mausoleum near where the desecrations had taken place, so just what were they _supposed_ to think?

Dean dodged a tombstone, cursing as he nearly tripped on the uneven ground. His breaths sounded far too loud in the stillness of the night.

The fact that said stillness had not yet been broken by the sounds of gunfire or screams of pain was the only good thing about the screw-up of a hunt they were currently on.

"C'mon!" he shouted, willing the car to come into view. It hadn't taken that long to get to the mausoleum in the first place, had it?

As though he had summoned her, Baby melted out of the darkness, her black lines sleek despite the moonless night. Dean could have hugged her in relief. There was no time, though. He raced to the trunk, pulling it open and sifting through the weapons without wasting a second.

The sound of gunshots nearly sent Dean into a panic as he ransacked the trunk. _Sam must have moved them; where the hell-_

_There!_

He grabbed the tasers and set off again for the church, not bothering to close the trunk behind him.

Because tasers were the only hope they had now.

Church doors wouldn't stop the creature that hunted Alexander and Sam couldn't hold it back for long.

No, electricity was the only thing that would take down a rawhead and Dean needed to get there _now_.

His heart pounded as though reminding him of the pain he'd felt the last time he'd gone up against a rawhead. The feel of the electricity pulsing its way through his body and frying his heart. The knowledge that he was going to die and there was nothing he or his brother could do to stop it. The guilt he felt when he had lived and another had died in his place . . .

His breath rasped as he ran and he pushed himself to go faster.

He could hear it now.

The sounds of a fight - of Sam fighting for his life - the grunts of a man taking a beating but refusing to go down.

The side of the church loomed in front of him with the broken window in full view, but the sounds of struggle were from the front - the creature was trying to get in the front door!

"Sammy!" he yelled as he rounded the building. "Get the kid!"

His brother was crumpled on the front steps of the church, his empty gun lying beside him. He was holding a knife, but there was no blade that would be effective against the rawhead that towered over him. The only weapon capable of defeating it was in Dean's hands, but he needed to get the creature away from Sam before he could fire. There was no way he'd risk electrocuting his brother.

"Hey, ugly! Come and get me!"

The rawhead turned its massive head and stared at Dean with cold eyes.

"Sam, go now! Get the kid out of here! I've got this!"

He barely watched as Sam pulled himself up, his movements slow and clearly pained as he stumbled to the door. Sam was injured, but Dean couldn't afford to take his attention off the rawhead. The things were fast and brutal.

Dean took aim and fired, but the creature dodged, suddenly so close to him that he could feel its rancid breath on his face. It reached for him, grazing his arm with its sharp claws and Dean jumped back with a cry of pain. A sudden warmth spread down his arm as blood quickly soaked into his shirt.

"Not this time," Dean said through gritted teeth. He aimed and pulled the trigger, screaming in spite of himself as the electricity surged into the creature.

The rawhead's massive maw opened in agony as the light flickered over its body with a sizzling sound. It was only when the taser was spent that the creature finally fell to the ground with a loud thump.

Dean stared at it for a moment in disbelief and then patted himself down. He wasn't certain what he was looking for. If he'd taken any of the taser's hit, he would have been on the ground for sure; he was in one piece.

Looking down at the pile of smoking child-eating monster at his feet, Dean poked at the corpse with his foot. The smell was atrocious, but it was dead.

He was alive and the rawhead was dead.

"Take that, fugly!" Dean yelled with a laugh, revelling in the fact that he had just defeated the rawhead without electrocuting himself again. His arm throbbed, but he was elated just to be alive. Sammy was alive -

_Sammy._

At the thought of his wounded brother, the joy left him as quickly as it had appeared. Dean dropped the expended taser on the ground and hurried back to the church . . . where the sounds of a struggle reached his ears.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered as he raced inside. He pulled his gun and prepared himself for another rawhead, but what he saw was Sam in the middle of a throw-down with a middle-aged man.

Alexander was cowering under a pew and Sam was trying desperately hard to bash his attacker's head in with a collection plate.

Dean held his gun at the ready, trying to get a line on the man beating his brother to a pulp, but the combatants were all over the place.

"Dean, it's a ghoul!" Sam managed to shout the warning before the ghoul grabbed him by the throat and flung him against the wall.

Dean opened fire, aiming for the head in a hail of bullets. The ghoul dropped, its head destroyed and its brains spreading across the floor.

Alexander gave a terrified cry as he covered his face.

Stifling a curse, Dean put the safety on his gun and tucked it in his waistband. "You okay, Sammy?" he called as he headed for Alexander.

"Just great," Sam groaned. "Kinda wish I'd saved some bullets for the ghoul, though."

Dean made a sound of agreement, but then he knelt down beside Alexander's hiding place. "You okay, buddy?"

Alexander was shaking, tears flowing down his face as he peeked out at Dean.

"They're dead and they aren't going to hurt you ever again," the hunter promised, putting as much conviction into his words as possible.

"I thought you had forgotten," Alexander said through his hiccupping breaths. "I thought you'd left and that you weren't coming back."

"Oh, I didn't forget. How could I forget you?" Dean soothed, reaching out to the terrified child. Alexander scrambled free of his hiding place and threw himself into Dean's arms where he wept inconsolably.

Dean stood, cradling the child in his arms and muttering sounds of comfort to him. He looked over to his brother who was still sitting on the floor where the ghoul had thrown him, but Sam waved his hand wearily to show he was still alive.

"So . . . there _was_ a ghoul," the younger hunter offered with a pained groan.

"I noticed," Dean replied. He crossed closer to Sam, bypassing the mess of dead ghoul on the floor. "What are the odds of that?"

"I think the rawhead took up residence here and the ghoul recently switched to feeding off what the rawhead left behind," Sam said softly. "It didn't want _old food_ anymore." Dean had to strain to hear him over the sound of the weeping child, which he guessed was the point.

"Wonderful," Dean sighed.

"Dean, the ghoul - it said things . . ." Sam's eyes were wide and suspiciously teary. "I don't think the others . . ."

He broke off, gaze drifting to the terrified child in Dean's arms, but Dean heard him loud and clear. Sam didn't think the other kids were still alive.

Dean clenched his jaw. "We'll come back and make sure one way or the other. Can you walk? I want to get Alex home."

He wasn't subjecting the kid to another second of the horror he'd been enduring.

Sam shakily tried to stand up, using the wall and a broken pew to help him regain his feet. It took him a couple tries before he managed it and Dean checked him over with an appraising eye. Sam looked terrible and would be all shades of black and blue the next day, but he was alive.

Dean noticed Sam's knife lying near the altar and leaned down to pick it up. The child in his arms was clinging so tightly to him that he never shifted with the motion.

"You okay?" Sam asked with a nod at Dean's arm.

The elder hunter had almost forgotten about the bloody wound in all the excitement that had followed. Pain erupted after his brother reminded him of its presence, but he nodded anyway, handing the recovered knife to Sam. "I'm peachy. Let's grab your gun from the front porch and get out of here."

They weren't rushing through the dark cemetery this time. With Alexander in his arms, Dean wasn't about to take any chances; he felt bad enough as it was.

The hunt had gone wrong and Dean felt the failure with a visceral pain.

Anger rose within him as he made his way back to the car and not even Sam's living presence at his side or Alexander's weary head resting on his shoulder could calm the rage that filled him.

Despite his swirling emotions, his hands were gentle as he pried Alexander off of him and helped him into the back seat of the car. The child was exhausted and still shaking from fright. Sam offered to drive so Dean could sit with the boy, but there was no way Dean was going to allow his probably-concussed brother behind the wheel. In the end, Sam climbed into the backseat with Alexander, submitting to the child's clinging grip as he tried to calm his desperate fear.

It was a hopeless task, though. That fear would never leave. The child's sense of safety had been shattered; ripped to shreds by not one, but _two_ predators thirsting for his blood. The unfairness of it all made Dean want to kill the creatures again a hundred times over. He'd done everything he could and it still felt like failure.

Dean glanced into the rearview mirror, letting his hands clench on the wheel. Alexander was alive, but the things he had seen destroyed his innocence. It was another ache that Dean would carry in his heart; another regret that he would never be able to put right.

Sometimes defeating the monsters just wasn't enough.

And Dean would never forget.


	16. This is gonna be so much fun!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five-year-old Sam makes a friend

_Weechesters - Sam is 5 and Dean is 9_

* * *

Sam laughed, remembering only at the very last second to cover his mouth so the sound wouldn't wake his brother. Dean wouldn't be happy to find out that Sam wasn't asleep and he'd be even less happy if he saw Sam was out of bed.

He paused, craning his head slightly to see around the foot of the bed. He could see Dean lying on the couch where the older boy had fallen asleep after watching a show he wasn't supposed to be watching. The television was still flickering, but the sound was low.

Sam turned back to the metal grate in the wall of his room, leaning his head in close.

"We have to be quiet, Jeremy," he whispered. "If we wake Dean, I'll get in trouble."

"Sorry," came the whispered reply. "I have to be quiet, too, so it's okay."

Sam smiled, even though the other boy couldn't see him. "Was it your turn, or mine?"

"Yours," Jeremy said.

"Okay. I have one."

"Is it an animal?"

"No," Sam replied with a hint of self-satisfaction. _Everyone always guessed animal first_.

"Is it a person?"

Sam shook his head before remembering he needed to answer out loud. "No."

"Is it made of something?"

"Everything is made of _something_!" Sam laughed.

"Shhh!" Jeremy warned. "You'll wake your brother!"

Sam cringed as he realized that he had been too loud and he could already hear Dean moving in the other room. "I gotta go! Goodnight!"

Jeremy's reply was lost as Sam burst into motion.

He climbed up over the foot of his bed and face-planted onto his pillow, trying desperately to untangle the blankets that he had kicked off earlier.

"Sammy? Is that you?" Dean's voice didn't sound tired at all!

Sam's eyes grew wide and he gave up trying to sort out his bedding, instead lying back as flat as possible as he tried to feign sleep.

"What are you doing up?" Dean asked as he came into the room. "It's late."

"I'm not up," Sam replied with a small smile. He had never been able to fool Dean.

"Uh huh." The nine-year old sounded a lot like Dad when he said that.

"I couldn't sleep," Sam answered honestly. _Mostly honestly_.

He had been restless. Sleep just wouldn't come no matter what he did. The motel unit smelled funny and it sounded funny and it looked funny. It wasn't the worst one he'd ever stayed in; it just wasn't the best. It was boring. There was nothing to do except watch old movies on the crappy VCR or play some old board games with missing pieces. Outside wasn't any better. The pool had been emptied already and the swing set looked like it would break if he touched it.

Not that he was allowed outside.

"Who were you talking to?" Dean was already trying to sort out Sam's sheets and the younger Winchester tried to hold still to make his job easier.

"Jeremy. He's staying next door and he's seven."

The wind had been too loud and it howled around the window. It had been scary at first, but that was when he'd heard the sounds in his vent. He'd thought it was the television in the next room over, but something had made him go and check. It hadn't been a TV, though - it was the voice of another kid softly singing a song to himself. Sam had called a timid greeting through the wall grate and Jeremy had responded to him. They had become friends almost immediately.

Dean patted down the blankets and tried to make the face that Dad made sometimes. "You know he should be asleep, too, right? If you guys make too much noise, Dad's gonna be mad."

Sam nodded. "I think I can go to sleep now, anyway."

Dean nodded and moved to the other bed. Sam always slept better when Dean was there and he found himself stifling a yawn.

"Night, Sammy," Dean muttered.

"Night, Dean."

And Sam let himself drift to sleep.

* * *

 

"We should play together," Jeremy said, his hushed voice nonetheless excited at the prospect of meeting face-to-face.

The idea was a great one, but Sam sighed. "I'm not supposed to go out when my Dad isn't here."

The boys had been talking through the grate for three nights and Sam was thrilled to have a friend. Dean was great, but Jeremy was different. He told different jokes, he liked Lucky Charms, and he had the same favourite Transformers as Sam. Having a friend of his own was everything Sam had hoped it would be, except for when Dean kept saying that they were both up too late and needed to go to bed.

After the first two nights, they had decided to wait until Dean was asleep before talking through the grate and they were extra careful not to make any noise.

"What if I came there?" Jeremy asked. "We could play in the other room and he'd never know!"

Sam bit his lip in uncertainty. Dean wouldn't be happy. Then again, he'd always said Sam wasn't supposed to go _out_. Dad had said a lot of times not to let any adults in, but no one had ever actually said anything about not letting another _kid_ in.

"Dean will never know! We'll be so quiet! Please?"

"Okay," Sam said hesitantly. "But you have to be super quiet."

He could practically feel the excitement in Jeremy's voice. "I promise! This is gonna be so much fun!"

Sam grinned in reply.

"I'll meet you at the door," Jeremy said.

As soon as the words were spoken, Sam was moving. He carefully closed the bedroom door as he moved into the only other room in the motel unit. He turned on the light over the rickety table so he could see before heading for the door.

The handle unlocked easily, but the chain was up way too high. Sam dragged a chair over, wincing a little at the sound it made, but it got him high enough that he managed to get his fingers on the lock. The chain made a small clinking sound as it finally dropped free.

He climbed back down, pushing the chair aside as he reached for the door handle.

"What the hell are you doing, Sammy?"

Dean's voice startled him and Sam jumped.

His brother was there in an instant, locking the door and shoving the chair aside so he could check over the salt line. "You can't go outside! What were you thinking?"

Sam felt his eyes brimming with tears. "I wasn't going anywhere! Jeremy was coming _here_!"

The older boys eyes widened in alarm. "Jeremy is _outside?"_ He ran to the window and pulled the curtain aside, peering out intently. "I don't see him."

Sam went to join him. The neon from the sign was the only thing illuminating the empty parking lot and a drizzling rain was making everything glisten. It was dark outside, but there was enough light to be able to tell that no one was there.

"He probably ran when you got mad." Looking over at his brother, Sam could tell just how upset Dean was.

"Kids can't be out at night, Sammy!" Dean said, his voice not quite a yell, but not quite calm, either. "And if his parents woke up and he wasn't there, people would start looking for him! They'd come here and we'd be in so much trouble! Don't you get it?"

The tears were falling now, dripping down Sam's face unheeded. "I'm sorry! I didn't know that. I didn't mean to! Please don't tell Dad!"

With a deep sigh, Dean pulled Sam into a hug. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

Sam nodded, his face buried in his brother's embrace.

"We need to make sure Jeremy got back to his room and then you need to go to bed, okay?"

"I'll ask him," Sam headed back to the bedroom and left Dean to put the chair back and turn out the light.

* * *

 

Dean was letting Sam carry the bag with the SpaghettiOs in it. There were only two cans, so it wasn't heavy, but Sam was careful not to let the cans get dented. He was wearing his coat zipped all the way to his neck to hold back the cold and he shivered in spite of himself.

The streetlights flickered on as the boys made their way back to their temporary home and Sam bit his lip nervously. It wasn't actually late, but it _felt_ late. Autumn seemed to be much darker than the summer had been.

He glanced up at Dean, who was carrying the bigger bag with milk in it. It was heavy, but Dean didn't seem to mind the weight. It meant that he couldn't hold Sam's hand, though. Not that Sam needed someone to hold his hand. He wasn't a baby.

Dean hadn't wanted to come out at all, but they'd run out of food. Dad was only supposed to be gone until tomorrow night and he would probably bring a pizza with him when he came back, but Sam was hungry _now_. He'd been hungry since dinner the night before. Finally, Dean had caved and decided to visit the tiny market down the street. When the store clerk asked where their parents were, Dean simply told them their Dad had just gotten home from work and asked them to pick up some things and the clerk had believed him!

Dean was good at talking to adults.

Sam sighed as they neared their rooms. He would be warm again, but it would be boring inside.

"Sam!" a voice called to him the other side of the parking lot. "Over here!"

Looking up, Sam saw a little boy about his age standing by the rusty swing-set. "Jeremy? Dean, there's Jeremy! Can I go play?"

He looked up at his brother and anything else he would have said died on his lips. Dean looked ill.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, unease rippling through him. "You don't look so good."

"Get inside, Sammy," his brother ordered, fumbling with the key as he finally managed to open the door.

"But, Dean-"

"Go inside. Now."

With a huff, Sam turned and went inside, pausing only briefly to wave to Jeremy. When he looked back, though, his friend had already left.

* * *

 

That night, Dean let Sam stay up late. They watched movies, played games, and made a blanket fort in the living room. When Sam could barely keep his eyes open, Dean led him back to the room and, to Sam's surprise, climbed into bed with him.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked. He didn't mind sharing a bed, but Dean usually said he was too old for that. It was weird that he was doing it now.

"My bed is too lumpy," Dean said with a yawn. "If you don't mind sharing . . . "

Sam shook his head. He didn't mind.

When Jeremy called for him through the vent, Dean firmly told the other boy that it was too late for Sam to play.

Jeremy fell silent after that.

Dean was still sitting with his back against the headboard when Sam finally fell asleep.

* * *

 

_"You're sure?"_

_"Yes, sir. He wasn't dressed for the weather at all and he was really pale. There . . . there was some blood."_

Dad was home, but instead of everyone eating pizza, Sam was the only one sitting at the tiny table.

Dean had taken Dad's arm as soon as he'd gotten home, dragging him to the bedroom and closing the door while Sam waited for them to come out.

They were trying to be quiet, but Sam could hear them and he knew they were talking about Jeremy. He wasn't stupid. He didn't know why they were whispering about it, though. Jeremy was his friend and -

_"I don't think Sammy noticed."_

There was a loud sigh. Dad wasn't happy. _"You didn't see a car in front of their room, did you?"_

_"No I didn't even think of that. I'm sorry, Dad."_ Dean sounded miserable. _"I thought they were just talking through crappy walls."_

_"You did good, son. I'll take care of it."_

The door opened and they came out, both looking very serious. Sam watched them both in silence.

"Hey, Sammy," Dad said, coming over to kneel by his chair. It put his head at Sam's level and Dad smiled the way he did when he was trying not to look unhappy. "I heard you made a friend."

"Am I in trouble?"

"No, though later we're going to have a talk about you opening the door," Dad said.

A flush of heat ran through Sam and he looked up at his brother in surprise. Dean had said he wouldn't tell! The betrayal was deep and Sam felt his eyes filling with tears.

Dad tapped his knee gently, drawing his attention back to him. "Sammy, is your friend nice?"

Sam nodded slowly, slightly suspicious.

"Can you tell me about him?"

"Is he in trouble?" Sam wasn't going to be a rat. Winchesters could keep secrets and he would keep his friend's secrets better than Dean kept his.

Dad shook his head. "No. I'm just a little worried about him. Dean told me he didn't have a coat on."

Sam thought back and realized that Jeremy had been out in a t-shirt. He hadn't even thought about it at the time. Jeremy was probably cold. His parents shouldn't have let him go outside like that. Dean would never let Sam go out like that.

"What can you tell me about him?" Dad asked again.

Sam shrugged. He told Dad Jeremy's name and age, what his favourite foods and TV shows were, where his family was from and where they were going on their holiday . . . he answered every question his Dad put to him, except the weird ones about his parents' names and if Jeremy had ever mentioned how long he had been at the motel.

That night, when Dad asked if he could talk to Jeremy, the wall grate stayed silent.

* * *

 

Dad was already gone when Sam woke up the next morning. He was gone all day, too.

Dean and Sam stayed in the living room again, even though they'd already watched all the good movies.

Sam wanted to go talk to Jeremy, but Dean wouldn't let him.

First he didn't keep Sam's secret and then he wouldn't let Sam talk to his friend!

They stayed up even later than before and Sam was half-asleep on the couch when Dad finally got home. He was dirty and smelled like smoke, but he smelled like that a lot of the time.

The brothers sat up to look at their father and Dad just nodded a small greeting to them. Something passed between Dad and Dean, something that Sam didn't understand, but Dean suddenly relaxed and announced he was going to bed.

That night Sam waited until Dean was asleep before trying once again to talk to Jeremy.

No one answered.


	17. I'll tell you but you're not gonna like it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys investigate some strange deaths in the forest and come across something even weirder.

_Not gonna lie, this one is a little weird. It's based on an actual legend, which just shows that people could be pretty creative at times._

* * *

 

"I think this is the spot," Sam announced needlessly, as though Dean couldn't already see the scorch marks left in the soft earth or the signs of fire damage on the tree trunks. The small clearing was bereft of any sign of life.

"Well, vic number three had a pretty prime camp site." Dean let out a low whistle and walked into the singed area, turning slowly to get the full scale of the damage. "What do you suppose could do this?"

Sam shook his head. "It's definitely not a typical forest fire. The fire crews already ruled that out. Apparently it was pretty warm that night, too, and the victim didn't even have his campfire lit."

"Something got lit," Dean retorted. At Sam's small smile the elder Winchester rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"The tent would have been here," Sam continued, back to business like the flick of a switch. He held the investigation report in front of him, comparing the descriptions on the page to what he saw in the clearing. "They think the fire started right over there."

Dean looked to where his brother was pointing. "Do they think an accelerant was used?"

"Yes and no," Sam replied. "The only substance they could find was burnt animal droppings. Animal dung actually burns really well and can to be used as a fuel source."

"Okay, that's gross," Dean muttered. "So a bunch of animal dung catches fire and kills a man who was hanging out in his tent at the time? That's stupid, Sammy."

"I didn't say it made _sense_ , but it's the only thing we have. Not to mention the location is significant." Sam flipped through the report again, finding a page with a map and showing it to Dean. "The first victim was over here, and victim 2 was here."

The spots were very close together on the map.

"And we're in almost a direct line from those spots," Dean noted.

"Exactly," Sam nodded.

"I dunno, Sam," Dean admitted. "It's interesting, I'll give you that, but I'm just not sure this is our kind of thing. It's not exactly demonic."

"I'm telling you, the burn marks on victim 2 were caustic. There was _nothing_ around that could have caused that, or the fire that burnt in a straight line from the site of his death almost all the way to the river."

Dean frowned. "So, weird caustic burns and fires that travel in almost perfectly straight lines?"

"And three suspicious deaths all in a neat little row," Sam summarized.

"Okay, maybe it's out kind of thing. _Maybe._ "

"The vics have nothing in common. The first was an old man out for a nature walk, the second was a deer hunter, and the third was out camping."

"They're all outdoors-y," Dean offered. "If they'd stayed at home watching TV, this wouldn't have happened."

Dean kept his expression neutral as he watched the frustration flicker across his brother's face. Sometimes it was just too easy to rile Sam up.

"Alright, alright, Sammy," he conceded. "I'm convinced. It's your parade, so where do you want to go next?"

"Everything has been in a straight line so far," Sam answered. "I'm thinking that if we keep heading right out from here, we might just find some hint of what we're looking for."

"Great. Something is burning outdoor enthusiasts to death and you want to go for a hike. That's just perfect."

Sam laughed and rolled the report back up so he could stow it in his coat pocket. "At least it's a nice day."

As they headed down the path out of the clearing, something caught Dean's eye. "Hey, Sam! I found some footprints here."

The taller Winchester's eyes narrowed as he took in the deep prints. "Whatever made these, it's big!"

"Maybe it's a moose!" Dean grinned.

Sam was already shaking his head. "The prints aren't the right shape. It's definitely got hooves, though. Really big hooves."

"Awesome. I can't wait until we inevitably run into the gigantic creature with enormous hooves that wanders around in the woods."

"It'd be interesting to see if we can find out what made those tracks," Sam agreed.

Dean gave his brother an incredulous look, which Sam returned guilelessly.

"Right, nature boy, let's just go."

* * *

 

They walked for a couple of hours along the narrow trail before Sam stopped suddenly, motioning to Dean at the same time to keep him quiet.

"Look!" the younger hunter whispered.

Dean craned to see around his brother's shoulder. "Well, that's weird. Is that a buffalo?"

"North America doesn't have buffalo," Sam said quietly, his tone distracted. "They're actually _bison_ and people just call them buffalo. That said . . . it does kinda look more like a buffalo. It doesn't have a bison's back hump and the horns are pretty big. It's definitely _not_ a buffalo, though, I can tell you that much."

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at his brother's encyclopaedic recitation, but Sam wouldn't have seen it anyway. Instead, he kept his gaze on the bizarre creature in front of them.

It was huge, larger than Dean thought a buffalo . . . bison . . . _whatever_ would be, and while it did have horns, they were curved backwards on its head. They would have been no use for defence and they looked kind of awkward. A mane ran down the animal's head and neck, and the tail had a tuft of fur on the end which made it look like someone had stuck a pompom there.

A low rumble emitted from the creature before -

"Did that thing just fart?" Dean asked, his face twisted in disgust. "That was gross."

Then the smell hit them. It was horrible beyond words and both brothers reacted in unison as they scrambled to get away from it.

Their movements only served to agitate the beast as it was suddenly made aware of their presence and the bison-buffalo-thing turned to run.

"Move!" Sam shouted suddenly, pushing Dean to the side and into the underbrush.

Dean was just about to tell his brother off when there was an eruption of fire along the trail.

"What the hell is that?" Dean yelled over the roar of the flames that were a little too close for comfort. " _What the hell was that_?"

Sam ignored burning foliage and stared down the trail with a shocked look on his face. "I'll tell you but you're not gonna like it."

"I don't like things that suddenly create fire out of their- _wait_. Did that thing just shoot fire out its ass?"

"I think it's a bonnacon," Sam replied, which didn't really answer Dean's question.

"Great. What's a bonnacon?" Dean tugged Sam's arm, drawing him away from the fire. "And does a bonnacon shoot fire out its ass? From really far away?"

Sam shrugged free of Dean's grip. "It's kind of exactly what it looks like - a big buffalo with a mane and a bad case of flammable flatulence."

"It sounds like you," Dean said flatly. "Except for the flammable part. Maybe."

The look Sam gave him could have soured grapes. "Really, Dean? Can you focus?"

Dean shrugged, then nodded. The fire was already burning down, but the level of damage was astonishing. Apparently bonnacon fire burned incredibly hot, but quick.

"Okay," Dean said, turning back to the scorched trail. "We can't let that thing get too far ahead, but I want to know everything that you know about it before we get there."

Sam fell into step just behind Dean on the narrow path. "They're supposed to be pretty easy to startle, which is not a good thing. It would explain why we have three dead outdoorsmen. They probably crossed paths with the creature and somehow scared it."

"And it killed them by. . . _farting in their general direction_?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Thank you for not saying that in a terrible French accent," Sam replied with an eye roll, "but yes. According to legend, flatulence is the bonnacon's primary defence. It can take you out with the smell or, if it's really agitated, it can use its gas and excrement to cause fires. The gas was even said to be caustic - burning on contact! It makes so much sense now!"

"Yeah, I can see how that would make sense," Dean said, not hiding his sarcasm. "What about this makes sense? There's an animal out there that starts fires with its ass! You're telling me it can burn you from great distances and it's primary defence is running away while farting? Is that what you're telling me?"

Sam winced and nodded. "I think so. I mean, nobody has _ever_ seen one of these things here. They're from somewhere in Greece and I'm pretty sure we would have heard if they were common."

"How the hell do you even know about it then?" Dean asked.

"It was in a book at Bobby's house," Sam answered. "I saw it when I was a kid and I thought it was funny. In medieval drawings, they would depict hunters trying to sneak up on it, but they were always drawn covering their noses and looking disgusted while the bonnacon . . . relieved itself."

Dean laughed slightly. "A little bathroom humour, Sammy?"

"I was twelve. You would have found it funny, too," Sam protested.

"Did the funny pictures show how to kill it?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's statement because it was probably true. "I don't want to go out as cow pie flambé."

"Spears and arrows seemed to work just fine," Sam replied. "No reason to assume bullets wouldn't work, too."

"As long as we sneak up on it."

"But not from directly behind it."

"At least it left us a trail," Dean sighed as he took in the path of destruction that led to the deadly gas-buffalo. "Our lives are weird."


	18. You should have seen it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam just wants to sleep, but Dean keeps talking

* * *

"And I'm telling you, Sammy, this burger was a thing of beauty. You know those pictures they have in the menus - the ones where they arrange the pieces of bacon and cheese so perfectly and put little drops of water on the tomato? - this was better than that. I swear it was like an artist was in that kitchen, this burger was so perfect. It was almost too beautiful to eat -"

"Please stop," Sam begged, reaching over to swat his brother into silence. His hand felt too heavy, as though it didn't want to obey him. His attempt to hit Dean was little more than an ineffective flail, pathetic in the weakness that it exuded. It made him mildly annoyed.

"Sammy? You with me?"

Sam could feel his brother shift next to him and suddenly there was a cool hand on his forehead which then shifted to his cheek. It was too close.

"Get off," Sam grumbled petulantly. He was vaguely aware that he hadn't actually been opening his mouth to talk, so perhaps his brother could be forgiven for resting his hand on Sam's shoulder instead of leaving him alone like Sam wanted.

The younger Winchester tried to open his eyes so he could glare at the other man, but it was too much effort. _He was so tired._ He sighed softly, letting himself relax into what he was hazily realizing was a cocoon of soft bedding. _Was he in the motel room_?

"Okay, kiddo," Dean said with a small sigh of his own. "Sleep is probably good for you right now, but anytime you wanna wake up, just let me know."

Sam _was_ awake, though. Maybe not completely - even in his exhausted mind he realized that he probably wasn't entirely conscious - but he knew what was going on. _Sort of_.

He could feel Dean settling back into his previous position as the elder hunter let out a tired groan. He could even sense Dean watching him, despite the fact that his own eyes seemed determined to stay closed.

He wasn't certain why Dean would be watching him or why there was such a complete and utter bone-weariness to his body, but it didn't really concern him too much, either. Worry was far away and slightly intangible, like a thought that he couldn't really grasp. Dean didn't sound alarmed, so everything was probably fine . . .

"So this burger," Dean continued as if he'd never been interrupted at all, "you should have seen it. It actually tasted even better than it looked. Candied bacon, Sammy. I could eat that stuff forever."

Sam wanted Dean to shut up about the burger. He wanted to sleep, but Dean seemed intent on talking and it was keeping Sam from drifting away on that peaceful and floaty feeling that was making his head feel like cotton. Why was his brother sitting on his bed with him in the first place? Dean liked his own space.

_Why was the burger so important?_

* * *

He woke up again when shivers started wracking his body and he was suddenly inexplicably cold in his warm nest of soft covers. He hadn't even noticed that he'd fallen asleep. The involuntary motion once again drew Dean's attention. The other man didn't stop talking, but the bed shifted as he left Sam's side. There was movement, the sounds of rustling fabric, then a quick gust of air that hit his face as a heavy blanket settled over top of him. The result was almost instantaneous as he felt both warmer and sleepier.

It was heavenly.

A small cough drew Sam's meandering thoughts back to his brother's voice. He hadn't really been paying attention to the words anymore, but the sound was soothing. It was like a familiar and comforting rumble in an otherwise silent world.

Dean's voice was slightly raspy, as though he'd been talking for a long time, and Sam found himself frowning slightly, trying to make out what he was saying.

For a moment, the older man fell silent and Sam listened carefully for any sign of danger. The bed squeaked as Dean once again climbed onto the mattress and resumed his place leaning against the headboard. He coughed again, clearing his throat a couple times before putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. It was a comforting weight that Sam hadn't even realized that he'd missed until it was back.

He relaxed under his brother's protective grip.

"Where was I?" Dean asked. He didn't pause for an answer and Sam wouldn't have been able to tell him anyway. "Last one was peach, so the next one should be . . . pecan? That sounds right. Not gonna lie, I like peach better, but pecan pie is okay. I just feel like part of the reason pie is so great is that it's not chewy or hard or anything like that. Pecan isn't that sweet smooth texture like apple, or blueberry, or peach. Too many little nut fragments that stick in your teeth, you know?"

Sam's brow creased. _Hadn't Dean been talking about burgers?_

"Now, pumpkin pie can be good if it's done right. Sometimes it's just bland and kinda mushy-"

He drifted off again before he could hear what constituted a 'done right' pumpkin pie.

* * *

"That's why you want to make sure you look after the carburetor." Dean's voice sounded like sandpaper. Or maybe he'd gargled with razor blades. It sounded rough and painful, completely unlike his usual easy timbre. He cleared his throat a couple times and then started again. "Because the carburetor-"

His voice cracked and Dean's words turned to a harsh whisper. "Because the carburetor-"

Sam frowned and he turned to find out what was wrong.

"You okay?" he muttered. He was pretty sure that was what he muttered. His own voice sounded entirely wrong as well. Almost like he had gargled with razor blades himself. He swallowed, suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth was.

"Sammy?" Dean rasped hoarsely. "C'mon, little brother, it's _really_ time to wake up now. You've been sleeping long enough."

There was worry colouring the words this time and Sam wondered just how long he'd been floating in the strange haze.

"Open your eyes, Sam." This time it wasn't a request and Sam found himself struggling to comply. He really needed to see what was making Dean's voice sound so painful.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean coaxed again.

His brother's voice was close and when Sam finally managed to pry his eyelids open, it was Dean's blurry face that he saw leaning over him.

Sam blinked, trying to clear his vision, but even without being able to see Dean, he could sense his relief.

"Welcome back," the elder Winchester managed to say.

"You okay?" Sam tried to ask again, hating how he couldn't get the words to form properly.

Somehow, his brother knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"I'm good, Sammy," Dean whispered with a smile. "Everything is fine now."


	19. Oh please, like this is the worst I have done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 19 - Sam and Dean vs. some demons

 

* * *

Dean winced as he took a blow to the side that knocked the breath right out of him. He ducked back for a moment, hoping to get even a second to suck some oxygen into his burning lungs, but he was not given the chance.

The demon pressed his advantage, coming at Dean with both hands outstretched, apparently deciding that a stranglehold would be the most satisfying way to take out a Winchester. Unfortunately for him, getting closer to Dean also meant that Dean was closer to _him_ \- close enough to sink the demon-killing knife into his attacker's rib cage.

Orange light flashed and the previously-possessed body crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Dean didn't waste a second before turning to the next demon, this time a red-haired one who watched him with intense hatred in his black eyes.

"Give me the case!" Dean ordered.

Behind him he could hear Sam grappling with one of the other demons, trying to work through an exorcism while simultaneously having the crap pummelled out of him. A sense of urgency ran through Dean and he hefted the knife higher to show his opponent that he wasn't joking.

The red haired demon sneered and shook his head slowly, clutching the case tightly to his chest to keep Dean from grabbing it. Not that it mattered, it was chained to the demon's wrist with what looked like spell-infused cuffs. Whatever relic was in there, it was obviously worth dying to protect. Too bad for him that it might come to that, because Sam and Dean had salted the only two exits to the room, trapping the demons in place. Though outnumbered, the Winchesters were holding their own against the four - _now three_ \- demons who had sought to steal the item from some rich guy's private collection and Dean wasn't about to let them leave with anything that could possibly be used to spread Hell on earth.

Sam managed to finish the exorcism and the sudden wail of a demon leaving a human body rang out behind Dean. He didn't turn to look, trusting that Sam had it in hand.

_And now there were two._

The final demon had been keeping his distance while Sam exorcised its companion, but now he rushed in with a furious howl as though determined to stop the younger Winchester from getting another chance to try his luck.

Dean kept his gaze on the demon with the case, prepared for the attack that his foe seemed to be readying.

"I'm going to kill you!" the red-haired demon grinned. "I'll peel the skin from your meat and eat it raw!

"Well, that doesn't sound very appetizing," Dean replied.

The demon leaped for him and Dean was in motion instantly, bringing the knife up for a killing strike only to have the demon deflect the blow with the briefcase. Dean pressed closer, taking away any distance advantage the demon might have had with his long swing. The hunter grabbed the side of the case, pinning it in place as he managed to bring the knife up and drive it into the demon's neck. Another bout of flickering orange light and another demon fell beneath the blade.

The body hadn't even hit the ground before Dean was turning to check on Sam.

The younger Winchester was about halfway through a choppy rendition of the exorcism rite, his words taking on the pained quality of one who had suffered a few too many punches to the ribs. The demon was twitching in place, struggling mightily to fight the exorcism and get closer to the hunter. Utter murderous rage twisted his face as he reached for Sam, but his fury wouldn't save him.

Dean stepped up to the demon and let the blade sink home for a third time. In moments, the demon was dead.

Sam looked up at Dean with a surprised expression. "You didn't need to do that."

Dean shrugged. "He was fighting the exorcism."

"They always fight the exorcism," Sam pointed out. "We could have saved the host."

"Did you save that one?" Dean asked, gesturing to the result of Sam's first exorcism.

He didn't need to check the body to know that the meat-suit wasn't getting up again. Whatever had happened to him while he'd been possessed had taken its toll and the human was clearly dead.

"This one might have survived," Sam countered. "You didn't need to stab him!"

"Oh please, like this is the worst I have done," Dean scoffed. "Sorry, Sammy, but we're on a time limit here. Security guards are going to make the rounds any minute and we're in a room full of dead people."

Dean could tell the moment Sam capitulated. The other hunter's stance relaxed slightly, releasing the tension he probably didn't even know he'd been holding.

Sam nodded. "Fine. Did you see what's in the case?"

"Not yet." Dean turned back to the fallen red-haired demon and knelt down to investigate the chain that connected the case to his wrist. It definitely had spell-work, just as Dean had suspected. The lock on the case was complicated as well, leaving Dean uncertain if messing with it was really the wisest course of action.

Probably better to use caution. They would take the case to Bobby's and see what they could find out before trying to open it.

Decision made, Dean shifted his grip on the knife and started cutting at the demon's wrist.

Behind him, he heard Sam's mutter of distaste at what Dean was doing, which made the elder hunter grin.

When the hand was fully severed, the chain fell free and Dean held up the case with a triumphant flourish.

"That's disgusting," Sam commented.

Dean shrugged, but handed the case to his brother while he cleaned off the knife. A thought struck him and he reached for the severed hand.

"Hey, Sam," he called.

When he was certain he had Sam's full attention, Dean turned and held the demon's hand aloft, making certain that Sam could see its fully-extended middle finger.

"Really?" Sam grimaced. "Stop playing with the dismembered body parts, Dean!"

With that, the younger man turned and headed for the exit, still shaking his head at Dean's antics.

Stifling his grin, Dean let the hand drop to the floor and hurried to catch up to his brother.


	20. I hope you have a speech prepared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 20 - Sam and Dean wake up in a barn. Angst follows

* * *

When Sam regained consciousness, blinking his way into confused and groggy awareness, the last thing he expected to see was his brother tied to a chair across from him.

Sam stared for a moment, trying to figure out just what was going on.

Was he in a _barn_?

With his slightly blurred vision, he wasn't certain that what he wasn't just having a really weird dream. He leaned forward slightly, peering at his brother with eyes held purposefully wide in the hopes that Dean would fall into focus more quickly.

He certainly _looked_ real.

Dean's hands were strapped tightly to the arms of the wooden chair he was sitting in. He looked unhurt, aside from a goose-egg blossoming on his forehead, but there was a tension in his posture that spoke of his displeasure at the situation.

It was a feeling with which Sam could certainly sympathize.

A wave of detached lethargy swept over the younger Winchester, and he had to fight to keep himself from drifting back into unconsciousness. It was tempting to just let go and not worry about figuring out what was going on, but he couldn't really just leave Dean tied to a chair.

He wondered absently if he was tied like Dean was, and a small tug confirmed that he was. His hands were behind him, and he could feel the coarse rope that wound its way around his wrists and through the slats on the back of the chair he was sitting in. The knot was effective, but workable. Even with his brain as foggy as it was, he was certain he would be able to slip it given enough time.

The thought struck him suddenly that Dean might have been knocked out at some point, too, and guilt swept through him for not having figured out the possibility sooner. There was a bruised bump on his brother's forehead, after all; it didn't just get there by itself.

The adrenaline jolt that accompanied the realization was enough to nudge some of the wooziness from his brain and Sam managed to put his attention on his sibling once more.

"You okay?" he asked, faintly surprised at how coherent he sounded. His head was starting to ache with a vengeance.

"I've just spent the last few minutes asking you that," Dean replied evenly, not really answering the question. "You looked like you were going to pass out again."

Sam nodded and then regretted the motion. "I think I got dosed with something."

"No kidding." Dean's sarcasm was strangely comforting, particularly since he seemed to have a better idea of what was going on than Sam did.

As far as Sam could recall, they'd been doing a salt and burn - nothing that usually resulted in a kidnapping. He couldn't remember the getting kidnapped part either, which meant he had no idea what was going on, who was responsible, or even where they were being held. Well, other than that they were in a barn.

What was it with kidnappers and barns, anyway?

Whatever the case, it must have been a strange turn of events to go from a simple hunt to being knocked out and tied to a chair.

"What happened?" Sam asked, ignoring his throbbing head as he started to work on the ropes binding him to the chair. "Last thing I remember was the salt and burn."

Dean twisted his own hands, trying unsuccessfully to get some slack in the ropes. Unlike Sam, his hands weren't close together; he couldn't reach the ropes holding him down. "We'd pretty much done refilling the grave and you went to put some of the stuff in the car while I was finishing up. By the time I got there, you were on the ground; someone had shot you with a dart. Some kind of tranquilizer."

"Seriously?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "I didn't realize that until I'd already leaned down to check you out. I thought you'd passed out or something. When I actually saw the dart, it was too late; I looked up just in time to take a hit to the head. Never saw the guy."

_A stealthy kidnapper. Great._

"How long have we been here?" Sam winced as his fingers caught on a metal nail. The edge was sharp and he pulled at it. If he could get it free, he could use it to loosen the knot. He bit his lip as he concentrated on his task as well as his brother's words.

"I woke up about an hour ago. Long enough to know that I'm probably not getting out of this chair anytime soon. Also, nobody has been in here since I woke up, so there's that."

"Who the hell did we piss off now?"

Dean's attention suddenly shifted to somewhere behind Sam, immediately warning the younger Winchester that they were no longer alone.

"Figures," Dean griped. "I just finished saying no one had come by and then you drop in to make a liar of me."

"So, little Sammy woke up from his nap, did he?" The voice was definitely male, confident in tone and unhurried in delivery.

Dean's face was cold and dangerous as the older Winchester sought to illustrate just how unimpressed he was with the speaker. Sam couldn't see their captor yet, but he resisted the urge to crane his neck to see who it was. The man would show himself eventually.

"It's about time," the voice continued. "I thought maybe I'd overdone it with the sedatives."

"I'd apologize for the inconvenience, but I don't think you're the one being put out, here," Sam replied.

"Winchester humour. Laugh at danger, right?" the man walked around Sam's chair until he was standing in front of him. He was surprisingly young, perhaps only a little older than Dean, and he was built like a man who'd spent his entire life fighting. It was never a good sign. "Hello, Sam. My name is Marcus Shelby and I'm a hunter. You don't know me. You have no reason at all to know me. But you ruined my life anyway."

Sam's eyes widened as the words hit home. He opened his mouth to reply, but Dean beat him to it.

"Seriously? You're doing the super-villain revenge thing? I hope you have a speech prepared."

Marcus turned slightly so he could see Dean. "Don't worry - no speech; more of a powerpoint presentation. Just the highlights."

"Fantastic," Dean muttered.

Marcus looked back at Sam. "See, when you started the Apocalypse, you got my brother killed."

Sam opened his mouth, unsure of what he could possibly say to defend himself. There was nothing. Even years later, the guilt was still too fresh. He stayed silent.

"Demons killed Alec right in front of me," Marcus said, his voice shaking slightly at the memory. "They tore him to shreds and they made me watch while he screamed. They laughed the whole time. They laughed . . . and they gloated about Lucifer rising from his cage. They said once he had his true vessel he would end humanity."

The memory of watching his own brother being mauled by hellhounds made Sam's stomach churn. He was intimately familiar with the pain Marcus was carrying. There were no words that could make it better.

"Do you know what we were talking about right before the hunt went south?"

Sam shook his head slowly.

"We were arguing about who was the better hunter; we were giving each other grief and mocking failed hunts of the past. We'd done it a hundred times in the past, but this time was different. Guess what the last words I ever really got to speak to my brother were, other than me just screaming his name as he bled to death, I mean."

"Marcus-"

Marcus didn't give Sam a chance to finish. "I told him he sucked. Those were the last words my big brother ever heard me say. I meant it as a joke, of course, but then we were in the fight and I never got the chance to take those words back. And the demons let me live because they told me it was funnier that way - that I wasn't worth the effort and I could spread the word the devil walked the earth. They told me who was blame for that. They told me you were going to let Lucifer wear you to end the world."

"It wasn't like that," Dean countered. "It was angels and demons playing chess with peoples' lives. What chance did any of us have?"

"My brother never got a chance," Marcus agreed. "So I went on a revenge kick of my own, determined to take out the boy-king before he could take his throne. I spent almost a year chasing you, Sam, but you kept popping all over the map like you couldn't decide where you wanted to be."

"I was hiding from Lucifer," Sam admitted, "and we spent a lot of time looking for ways to stop the Apocalypse."

"Apparently you succeeded," Marcus said with a small shrug. "When I finally got news of you, word was you had sacrificed yourself to stop Lucifer - that you had thrown yourself into Hell to trap him and you were being tortured for eternity."

"This is a speech," Dean pointed out, barely hiding the fury in his voice. "You said you weren't going to do that. Besides, we know all this."

"I figured eternal damnation was the ultimate vengeance for my brother and I tried to move on with my life." Marcus ran a trembling hand through his hair. "It worked for awhile. I hunted. I killed demons. I existed. I thought about you in Hell. You were paying the price for what you'd done and I started to think that maybe I'd been a little harsh. _Demons_ killed my brother. Yeah, you let them out and gave them a leader, but maybe the punishment didn't fit the crime. I found myself actually _forgiving_ you, maybe even _pitying_ you."

The words shocked Sam.

"But _then_ I went to a cemetery to do a salt and burn only to see you walking around with a smile on like you owned the place! You were happy and alive, but _I_ wasn't very happy, Sam. I thought my brother had been avenged, and it turned out I hadn't even done _that_ right! Should have checked my facts, right? Turns out, you hadn't paid for anything! You never faced the music, you just faked your own death and went about your life! You got my brother killed, you nearly _destroyed the world_ and it's like you don't even care!"

"That's not what happened!" Dean protested again.

Sam stayed silent.

"I had a tranquilizer left over from a previous hunt, so I took the chance and figured we'd hash things out now. It's been a long time coming." Marcus's fists were clenched and Sam tried not to tense for the blow he was certain was coming soon. "This time, we'll make sure it sticks."

"Okay," Sam said softly. "Listen, I know you don't want to hear this and you have no reason to believe me, but I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Sammy, shut up," Dean growled.

"But no matter what you think of me, Dean is innocent. He doesn't deserve any of this."

"Sam!"

"I didn't know your brother was there when I got you," Marcus said, "but he was and now he's involved."

"That's not his fault," Sam pleaded. "If you want to kill me, I won't stop you, but please let my brother go."

Marcus stared at Sam impassively, pulling a knife from his belt.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted. "Marcus, so help me, if you touch him I will kill you!"

"No you won't!" Sam said firmly to his brother. "You'll let him go."

"There is no way in Hell I'm gonna do that!" Dean argued.

Marcus looked confused.

"He won't touch you because I'm asking him not to," Sam said to Marcus, his attention solely on man with the knife. "You need revenge, and I understand that, but it has to stop here. I won't have my life or my death adding to the bloodshed. I'm tired of revenge. I'm tired of people dying."

Dean made a strangled noise and Sam could tell that his brother was straining against his bonds.

"For what it's worth, I did go into that cage, Marcus. I spent a long time in there, longer than I was ever alive on earth, and even now I still feel like I can never get that slate clean." Sam let out a hollow sigh. "There's nothing I can do to fix everything and make it better, but I can try. If this is truly what your brother would want, then I won't stop you."

Marcus hesitated. "You actually went to Hell?"

Sam couldn't fully suppress the shiver that ran through him, but he nodded. "For nearly two hundred years."

"And you got out?" Suspicion coloured Marcus's voice.

"Death, the reaper, took pity on him," Dean commented, his own voice strained. "It was so bad in there that even a _reaper_ wouldn't leave a human soul to endure it."

Sam was glad Dean was fudging the details slightly. It would only hurt if Marcus found out that resurrections were possible, but apparently not for his brother.

Marcus took a shuddering breath, Dean's words clearly resonating with the hunter.

"Is he telling the truth?" Marcus asked Sam, staring intently at the younger Winchester as though he'd be able to see the lie in his eyes.

"It's the truth," Sam confirmed.

Apparently his eyes managed to convey his sincerity.

Their captor's grip on the knife tightened as the indecision rippled through Marcus. Sam watched the man's pain-filled eyes as he processed what he'd just been told.

"Marcus, please don't kill my brother," Dean asked.

The words felt like knives in Sam's skin.

"I can't just let you both go," the hunter said softly. "I kidnapped you and . . . " He looked at the knife in his hand. The moment stretched out and the futures played out over Marcus's face. Then he suddenly seemed to deflate, as though all the pain he'd been carrying for so long simply used up all his strength. Marcus looked weary and suddenly ancient, a young hunter in an old man's stooped posture.

"I won't kill you," Marcus said, slowly. "I guess for whatever reason, the universe decided to put you on parole. I'll be watching, though. No more mistakes, Sam."

Sam nodded tiredly. "Thank you."

The hunter stepped to the centre of the room, directly between the brothers and bent to place the knife on the floor. "No offence, but I'm not going to cut you loose."

"We'll manage. You have my word, we aren't coming after you," Sam promised. "If our paths ever cross, we'll keep the peace."

Marcus nodded and turned to leave.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Sam said.

"Me too," Marcus replied. And then he was gone, the barn falling still and silent.

The silence lasted all of two seconds before Dean turned a fury-filled gaze on his brother.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

"I knew what I was doing," Sam replied.

"You straight up told him to kill you, Sam! That doesn't sound like you know what you're doing!" Dean thrashed in his bonds as though he couldn't wait to get over to his sibling and show him just how stupid he'd been.

Sam shook his head. "He wasn't going to kill me."

"You don't know that! You left it up to chance-"

"No," Sam said. "I didn't." He stood from his chair, shaking the ropes free from where the slack loops they'd formed around his wrists after he'd undone the knot. In his hand, he held up the nail he'd managed to pry loose from the chair. It was sharp and sturdy, not much of a weapon to most people, but in Sam's hands it could easily have subdued an unsuspecting Marcus. A nail to the eye or the throat would take anyone down for a time, and a second was all Sam would have needed to end the threat.

"I wanted to give him a chance," the younger Winchester confessed, moving to untie his brother. "I wanted him to be able to make that choice, but I wasn't going to let him kill me no matter what he chose. And he wasn't going to kill you, either."

"And all that talk about guilt and not caring if you die?" Dean stood up, watching his brother carefully.

"I'm not about to roll over," Sam assured him. "If someone wants to kill me, they're going to have to work for it."

"Well, you're a better actor than I thought," Dean said. "You had me convinced you were an idiot."

"Can we get out of here before Marcus changes his mind?" Sam asked with a roll of his eyes. "We don't know where we are and I'm guessing the Impala is still at the cemetery."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. The elder hunter sounded as suddenly tired as Sam felt. "Hey, Sam?"

When Sam looked up, Dean reached out and pulled him into a rough embrace.

"If you ever tell someone that they can go ahead and kill you _ever again_ , then I will kill you myself, got it?"

Sam nodded, barely managing to return the hug before Dean had pulled back and punched his shoulder.

"What the hell was that for?" Sam protested.

" _That_ was for telling Marcus I wouldn't kill him for killing you. You don't get to make those choices anymore."

"You won't though, will you?" Sam asked, suddenly uncertain. "We've both gone on crazy revenge kicks before; we know what he's going through better than anyone else alive. He didn't kill us, and really, we've let people get away with far worse, we've even teamed up with some of them."

He couldn't even put into words just why it was suddenly so important to him to make sure Dean didn't kill Marcus the second his back was turned.

"I get where he's coming from. I don't like it, but I think we can afford to give steering clear of him a try," Dean said. "I'm keeping an eye out for him, though. The slightest _hint_ that something is off and I'm taking care of things. For now, at least. I guess as long as he keeps the truce, we can do the same."

Sam let a small smile cross his face. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean let out a groan and pushed Sam towards the door. "Chick flick is over, Samantha. Get walking, because if he touched my car, the truce is over."


	21. Impressive, truly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean just needs a minute

* * *

He just needed a minute alone.

Just one minute to get his thoughts in order before everyone bombarded him with questions and prodding exams.

One single moment to himself so he could get back to a place where he didn't feel like curling up and vanishing from the world.

Because, while waking up in a hospital room wasn't exactly unfamiliar territory, it wasn't something that Dean relished, either.

He knew how bad it had been; how close he had come.

The nurse, Sara, had been sympathetic about the injuries he had sustained in the mugging, never once suspecting that Dean had actually been stabbed by a murderous shapeshifter right before he'd managed to shoot it with a silver bullet.

Dean wasn't about to tell her the truth.

Instead, he flirted with her and made jokes while she checked the settings on his IV and got him situated to her satisfaction. Flirting was familiar. It was comfortable. It was a good way to kill time while Sam was downstairs feeding the cover story to the cops sent to investigate Dean's attack.

When Sara was finally done, Dean was nearly shaking with the effort of keeping his devil-may-care expression in place.

"Hey, Sara, can you just give me a minute before you send my brother in?" Dean asked. "Gotta make sure my hospital gown isn't giving him a show or anything."

"Sure," Sara replied, giving him a small smile.

Dean waited until the nurse was gone before he let his smile drop. He took a shuddering breath, trying to get his emotions under control.

Stabbed again.

Almost died.

_Again._

A horrible heaviness settled in the pit of his stomach and he felt like crying.

Here he was _again_ , injured and in pain after another near-miss with death. He wasn't twenty-six anymore and convinced of his own immortality. Every time he made a miraculous escape, Dean knew just how close he had come to a horrible end. He had faced those horrible ends more times than he could remember, but instead of getting easier to deal with, it seemed like it was getting harder.

Lying in bed with his guts sewn back together, Dean was painfully aware of how badly things could have gone. He could have bled out in the sewers next to the body of the shifter, or in the car on the way to the hospital; he could have slipped away while Sam begged him to stay.

He knew the pain that would accompany his recovery and the discomfort that would plague him for weeks as he pushed his body and forced it back to combat readiness; he didn't have the luxury of bed rest.

Evil wouldn't wait for Dean to feel better.

The thing was, Dean was tired of pain. He was tired of feeling it and tired of seeing it reflected in the mirror or on his brother's face.

Those close-calls weighed on him, visiting him in the middle of the night when he should have been sleeping, waking him in a cold sweat when he did manage to sleep, even sneaking into his waking thoughts sometimes without warning.

There were so many ways he could have died and only chance seemed to stand between him and the grave. One day his luck would run out. It was simple math. There were some things for which no amount of skill could prepare him - survival sometimes came down to a coin toss and it was a terrifying thought.

There were so many _what-ifs_.

What if he'd jumped left instead of right to dodge that bullet?

What if that spirit had flung him just a little harder into that tombstone?

What if the ghoul had bitten his jugular instead of his shoulder?

What if one of those coin tosses got his brother killed instead of him?

There was nothing he could do to guard against flukes of fortune. He would always be in danger and Sam would always be in danger. They would walk into situations that would kill them sooner or later, regardless of the fear that warned them away.

How many times could a man be expected to put himself in a position where he might die at any moment? How many times would Dean be forced to bleed and suffer one night only to get up the next day, push past it, and somehow find the strength to face that pain again?

At moments like this, alone and hurting, Dean wanted so badly to give up. He wanted to find a place that was safe and hidden where he and Sam could just exist without everyone trying to kill them. He didn't want to have to summon up his courage just to face his day. He didn't want to have to push past the fear and walk into a situation that he might not walk away from.

He didn't want to know exactly how long it took to recover from a gunshot to the shoulder, or a stab wound in the side, or a hellhound bite, or the countless other teeth and claws and crushing blows that had rained down on him over the years.

He didn't want to die, and he didn't want Sam to die.

He was tired.

He was done.

He was-

The door creaked open slowly and Sam's tousled head peeked into the darkened room. "Dean? How are you feeling?"

Dean winced, hoping it was dark enough that Sam couldn't yet see him clearly. Putting on his game face took a little work sometimes. He cleared his throat and pressed the button to raise his bed, forcing a cocky grin onto his face as he did so. "You know me, Sammy. Takes more than a toothpick to keep me down."

A small snort was his reply as his brother made his way to Dean's bedside.

"My nurse is hot, at least," Dean continued on. "I think she likes me."

"She's married," Sam replied lightly. "Sorry."

"Damn. Maybe the next one will be single."

Sam looked as terrible as Dean felt, and the elder Winchester felt the despair rising in him again. _He couldn't deal with it; he couldn't make it better; he didn't want to think about it_ -

"It was close, Dean. The wound was deep and you almost bled out. They said if we'd been any longer . . . "

_He really didn't want to hear it._

Instead, he feigned nonchalance. "Impressive, truly."

Sam's face scrunched. "Impressive? Dean-"

"I cheated death again, isn't that at least a little impressive? Another win for the Winchesters."

Sam didn't look impressed.

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean said firmly. "Honest. A few weeks of easy hunts and then we're back in the game, right? I'm not about to let a few stitches get me down, am I?"

The younger Winchester managed a weak smile. "Of course not."

"Right, now tell me what happened with the cops."

Dean watched approvingly as some of the haunted look slowly faded from Sam's face while he spoke. Things would be normal again soon. They'd move on and Dean's fears would get slowly locked away behind the walls he had built just for that purpose.

If only for a little while.


	22. I know how you love to play games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys kill time while squatting in an abandoned farmhouse

* * *

"Are you gonna mope all day, Sammy?" Dean asked, not even bothering to hide the exasperation in his voice.

"I'm not moping," Sam replied. He refrained from rolling his eyes, because Dean would only jump on him for being _moody_ instead.

"Right, you're just sitting here in the dark by yourself for fun."

At that, Sam couldn't really hold back his snort of disbelief. "You've got to be joking."

While Sam was indeed sitting on the floor in the dark, he wasn't alone and it was hardly by choice. The brothers were squatting in a abandoned farmhouse where a power supply wasn't exactly on the menu. Added to that was the fact that there was the mother of all thunderstorms going on outside; even if the house _had_ power, it probably would have gone out by now anyway. They were actually pretty fortunate that the roof didn't leak.

It wasn't horrific by any means. While the house was old and neglected, showing its age in every warped floorboard and sagging doorway, it still maintained a certain charm that showed it had once been someone's cherished home. There were signs all over that told of a long and happy history in the house.

Small notches were carved into the doorframe between the kitchen and living room, denoting the progression of numerous children into adulthood. Faded writing beside the marks no doubt once showed a date or initials, but the notes were completely illegible now, lost to the intervening years.

There was a recipe for banana bread tacked onto the inside of one of the cupboards, the paper brittle and crumbling. Sam had only noticed it was there at all because the cupboard door was hanging open by a single hinge. Someone had baked banana bread in that kitchen, probably for the children whose marks were recorded in the doorframe. They probably consulted the recipe often, and Sam could almost smell the aroma of baking bread filling the air. It wasn't hard to picture past family meals being eaten in the now-empty kitchen and the sounds of decades worth of birthdays and holidays still echoed in the bare rooms.

What had happened to the family who had once lived there? Had they moved away, unable to find a buyer? Had they simply aged and died, leaving the home to heirs who no longer sought the simplicity of country life? Maybe they could no longer afford the house and had been forced to gather what they could and leave their beloved home behind forever.

No matter what had come to pass, the house was a ghost of its former self. Its once brightly-painted walls had faded along with the people who had once taken such pride in them.

The farmhouse was lost; the joy that had once filled it was only a memory.

It made Sam sad.

So yes, he was sitting in the dark, but he wasn't moping so much as thinking. Apparently it was the same thing to his brother.

"I'm bored."

Sam sighed.

"Come on, Sammy, let's do something."

"What can we do? It's raining and it's dark. We've got a long drive tomorrow; maybe we should just turn in."

Dean raised his eyebrow. "Seriously? It's not even nine yet."

Sam leaned back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "What would you suggest, then?"

"Let's play a game."

"A game? Dean-"

His brother cut him off. "Hide and seek."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "What are you, five? You want to play hide and seek?"

Dean grinned and nodded. "In the dark."

"You're messing with me, right?" Sam had the sneaking suspicion Dean was not messing with him.

"Dead serious," Dean replied. "I know how you love to play games."

"I really don't," Sam replied.

"Come on! I'll even count first," Dean offered. "I can give you to the count of thirty if you don't think you can find a spot in twenty."

The challenge had been made and Sam found himself narrowing his eyes at his brother's insinuation that he would suck at hiding.

"You can use a flashlight to hide, but once I'm seeking, all lights are out. Winner is the first one who can avoid being found three times. Agreed?"

"There probably aren't that many hiding spots in this house," Sam countered, his mind already racing through possible spots he'd come across earlier.

"Not my problem if you can't find any," Dean smirked. "Also, no going outside or changing spots once you're hidden."

"Fine," Sam agreed, getting up off the dusty floor and grabbing his flashlight. "You have to cover your ears while you're counting, though. This place is really creaky and you'll know where I am just from the floorboards."

"What's the matter, Sammy? Aren't you a super-stealthy hunter?"

"If I'm finding a hiding spot in twenty seconds, you can cover your ears for that long, too."

"Fine." Dean made a show of turning to the wall and plugging his ears.

Sam was running before his brother even started to count.

He raced up the stairs, his hand sliding up the banister, which was still smooth from hundreds of hands performing the same action over the years. At the top, Sam darted to the left, making his way to the master bedroom where a row of built-in cabinets promised a hiding spot large enough to conceal his tall frame.

The cabinets creaked as he opened the doors and stuffed himself inside. Shifting to find a somewhat comfortable position, he barely got the doors shut and his flashlight off before he heard Dean call.

"Ready or not, here I come!"

This had been Sam's favourite part of the game as a child. He had always found it hard not to laugh as he listened to his brother search for him, and now was no exception. It didn't matter that he was a grown man hiding in a cupboard, his sibling was stumbling around in the dark trying to find him and there was something inherently funny about that.

His breath caught in his throat as he heard Dean's footsteps creaking up the stairs. Unlike Sam, who had taken the steps at a run, Dean's movements were more cautious. He was searching in complete darkness, listening for anything that might give Sam away - a loud breath, a laugh, the whine of a door-hinge or the groan of aged wood under a boot-clad foot.

Sam smiled when Dean started with the bedroom at the top of the stairs. He would clear each room with military precision, making certain not to miss anything.

There was a thump and a muffled curse as Dean walked into something, and Sam stifled a snort of laughter.

Soon, Dean had made his way down the hall, sweeping the other two rooms before coming to the master bedroom.

Sam held his breath.

Dean's fingers were scraping along the wall as he used the house itself to help him navigate. He followed the lines of the room until he got to the wall of cupboards and started opening them.

With a grin, Sam waited until Dean opened the doors to his hiding spot.

The moment he felt the brush of air on his face, Sam leapt forward and shouted, " _boo_!"

Dean swore viciously as Sam laughed and flicked on the flashlight. The elder Winchester blinked in the sudden brightness, his face betraying his irritation at having been startled by his brother. It was quickly replaced by a smug grin. "I found you!"

Sam was still laughing. "Yeah, I guess you did."

"Your turn to count now," Dean pointed out needlessly. He pulled out his own light, flicking it on so he'd be able to see to hide.

"Do you want thirty seconds so you can get your heart back under control?" Sam teased.

Dean wouldn't take any extra time and they both knew it. The game was on and it was about to get cutthroat.

"Twenty will be more than enough," Dean said firmly, a dangerous grin spreading across his face. "And Sammy, stay sharp, because if you think I'm not gonna get you back for that, you've got another thing coming!"

"I'll find you before you think of revenge," Sam promised, already heading to the stairs to take up the counting position. "Twenty seconds . . . better get hiding!"

Sam hurried down the stairs, not willing to give his brother the advantage of the extra seconds while he got back to the living room.

Even as he ran, Dean was shouting challenges and insults after him that had Sam nearly doubled over with laughter.

And for the first time in years, the farmhouse was filled with the sounds of family.


	23. This is not new, it only feels like it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys stop at a diner in a small town

_Inspired_ _by_ _Bob_ _Seger's_ ' _Turn_ _the_ _Page_ '

* * *

Every conversation fell silent when the Winchester brothers entered the restaurant. In unison, a sea of heads turned to stare at the new arrivals with a mixture of distrust and suspicion evident on their faces. Whoever said small towns were welcoming obviously hadn't frequented the same places as Dean and Sam.

Dean managed to avoid making a comment, mainly because Sam was staring to look a little uncomfortable and Dean didn't have any particular desire to make his brother more self-conscious than he already was.

How was it that every small town managed to have its citizens trained to do that stop-and-stare movement? Did they practice it or something? Did they teach a class on noting the arrival of outsiders and showing distrust and disapproval by turning to stare?

And really, what were they expecting? Two guys drove up in a muscle car and decided to get something to eat . . . it wasn't as though they were going to rob the place!

Dean brushed some loose flakes of snow off of his jacket, sighing at the narrowed eyes that followed every move he made. Sam, for his part, smiled a greeting and managed a small wave that looked more sheepish than dangerous. Not that it would probably stop the townsfolk from thinking he was a murderer or something. It looked like it was just that kind of town.

Dean sighed and gave his brother a small shove towards an empty booth near the back. It was not exactly private, but it was better than enduring the stares.

As they made their way through the diner, Dean couldn't help but overhear the muttered comments about his ripped jeans and hair gel. As though the old guys in the diner had never tried to look good back in the day! They'd probably used brylcreem, for crying out loud! The barely-whispered remarks didn't stop there. Every aspect of the new arrivals was scrutinized and found wanting. They were too tall, too dangerous, and probably drug users. Apparently Sam's hair was as suspect as Dean's, perhaps even more so due to its length. Dean gritted his teeth as he heard more than one joke about his brother's 'girly' locks.

Sam somehow managed to keep his expression friendly, maybe trying to counter the scowl that was forming on Dean's face. Despite the effort, Dean could see the tightness around Sam's eyes that told of his growing annoyance with being the centre of attention.

It wasn't as though either brother was particularly trying to stand out. They just didn't quite match the established character of the town for some indiscernible reason and that meant that they were outsiders. It was nothing they hadn't endured before.

Same story, different place.

With a frown of resignation, Dean folded himself into the booth. It looked like the vinyl was leftover from the 50s and the table top was cracked with age. The entire diner was dated and used. Yup, sure looked like it was the Winchester boys bringing the property value down. The townspeople might have been better served by glaring at their ugly and dilapidated restaurant decor.

Dean frowned. The menu probably hadn't changed since the 50s, either . . .

The people were gradually turning back to their meals, but the conversation had yet to reach the dull roar of a normal crowd.

"I hate this, Sammy," Dean muttered. "Everyone keeps looking at us like we're fouling up the air."

"It's like they know we're freaks as soon as they see us," Sam agreed, "and it sucks every time. This is not new, it only feels like it."

He kept his voice low, trying not to draw more attention, and Dean could sympathize with his brother's admission. It wasn't an unfamiliar greeting by any means, but it never lost its sting.

The buzz of Dean's phone interrupted him before he could think of a reply.

Glancing at the caller ID, he couldn't hide his grin when he saw it was Bobby. Even as he moved to answer, the ghost of an idea was forming in his mind.

"Hey, Bobby," he greeted with over-the-top cheer. "How's it hanging?"

"Well, that depends," Bobby replied. "I've got a bunch of people getting their livers ripped out of their bodies in Montana and wondered if you boys would be interested in checking it out?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, even though Bobby couldn't see him. "We're still scouting possible filming locations. Haven't quite found the right small-town look yet, though. Nothing really screams 'George Clooney lives here', you know?"

Sam gave him a quizzical look and the silence that stretched out on the other end of the phone indicated that Bobby was perhaps questioning the state of Dean's sanity.

"Are you drunk, boy?" Bobby had apparently decided Dean was the kind of guy who got drunk at noon and started rambling about George Clooney.

Dean wasn't sure if he should be offended by that or not.

The conversation in the diner had come to a standstill again as everyone unabashedly eavesdropped on Dean's conversation.

"No, no," Dean said with an exaggerated laugh. "It's just not going to be easy to find a town with enough of that old-timey, friendly charm. People have to believe that Mr. Clooney's character would live in whatever place we choose, after all. I know he's playing a small-town veterinarian, but he's still a super-rich Hollywood megastar. Even his characters have to have standards, right?"

Another pause. "Riiiight. So, organ theft? Livers going missing? Bodies ripped open by teeth? Sound like something you boys would want or should I call someone else?"

"You want to use the whole town as extras in the movie?" Dean asked in surprise, raising his voice just enough so that he was sure the entire clientele of the diner could hear every word. "That's gonna cost a fortune. We'd have to pay every single person and that's not pocket change. Not to mention the fact that every person would have to work really closely with Mr. Clooney at some point."

Sam was clearly fighting the urge to smile, struggling to keep a serious expression on his face.

Dean fought a smile of his own and casually glanced to the side to see the rapt attention he was receiving. He had thought his performance was a little much, but the people were apparently eating it up.

"Is this some sort of code?" Bobby asked, "because I have no idea what you're on about."

"Okay, well, we'll head over there. We're actually in the next town over so it won't take us long to get there. They might have that spark we're looking for. You still want that welcoming country atmosphere, right?"

"I haven't told you the name of the town," Bobby replied gruffly. "How could you be one town over? Are you boys in trouble? I'm gonna call your brother."

Dean let out another loud laugh. "No need, no need. We'll go there right now. We can send someone else out later to finish scouting this location. We can send them incognito; no one will know they work for us. They can get the full experience then. Small town charm just can't be faked, you know?"

"You idjits give me a call when you can talk freely, okay? I can give you the details then." Dean could hear the annoyance dripping from Bobby's voice.

"Sounds great, Mr. Spielberg. We'll see you then."

Bobby sighed and hung up without another word.

"Mr. Spielberg has another town he wants us to check out?" Sam asked, his face open and innocent.

"Yup. We should head over there right away." Dean pried himself out of the narrow booth and reached for his wallet. He dropped a ten dollar bill on the table, even though no one had so much as offered them a glass of water in the time they'd been sitting there. He didn't really want to pay for nothing, but it felt like the sort of thing a Hollywood location scout would probably do.

As he and Sam made their way back to the door, Dean couldn't help but note the fact that the stares had gone from suspicious to eager. There were a few embarrassed faces, but the majority were trying unsuccessfully to adopt the friendly expressions that they felt might land them a hefty paycheque and a part in a George Clooney movie.

The brothers stepped out into the blowing snow, managing to avoid looking at each other until they were safely ensconced in the Impala's still-warm interior. As they pulled away from the diner that time forgot, they gave in and laughed.

They'd find another place to eat, but their brief presence in the restaurant wouldn't be forgotten anytime soon. Maybe nothing would change in the long-term, but for the next few weeks, every road-weary traveller looking for a meal in that diner would be treated like royalty.

Dean felt pretty good about that.


	24. You know this, you know this to be true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets into trouble when he tries to thwart a human sacrifice

Sorry for the delay. The rest of the chapters are coming!

* * *

Sam was getting very tired of being pinned to walls . . . or in this case, gravestones. It seemed like every ghost, demon, or telekinetic monster out there could fling him around with ease and there was nothing he could do to counter it. In this case, the being in question was a very old, very powerful witch, and Sam was outmatched. Even as he fought the invisible force that held him immobile, Sam found himself wondering if there might possibly be a spell or charm that could counter the effect. It would certainly give him a leg up and he could use all the help he could get. It was a moot point at the moment however. It wasn't like he could ask the witch responsible for his situation if there was a way to counter it. She didn't seem like the sharing type.

The hex bag keeping him frozen sat just beside him where the witch had tossed it - so close and yet impossibly far away. Trapped as he was, there was nothing he could do to recoil as the witch smiled and stepped closer, reaching out with long, red-lacquered nails in a deceptively casual gesture as she fixed a wrinkle in Sam's flannel shirt. The smell of sulphur wafted around the woman and Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste. She had been dealing with demons.

For her part, the witch just winked at his reaction. "Sam Winchester," she crooned, "I'd say it's an honour, but it's really more of a pain in the ass. Your timing is terrible."

Sam let a smirk cross his face. He wasn't feeling particularly confident at the moment, so he would just have to fake it. "I stopped you, so I'd say my timing is perfect."

The witch looked ready to retort, but then she paused and a dangerous glint of bloodlust shone in her dark eyes. She pursed her lips in a patronizing display of mock sympathy. "Oh, poor Sammy. I wouldn't be so sure of that, if I were you."

Sam frowned. "I knocked over your altar and that teenager you were going to sacrifice is long gone now. You're not going to find another virgin before the lunar eclipse is over, so the way I see it, you're out of time and whatever demon you're working for isn't going to be happy."

"Silly little hunter," she laughed. "You don't even see it, do you?"

Sam glared, hating how close the witch was to him, but unable to do anything about it.

"What do you think is going to happen now?" the woman intoned. "You smashed my bowl of herbs, so everything is ruined? I still have a few minutes until the total eclipse begins; I can remix them. The demon I bargained with - as long as he gets blood from a suitable sacrifice every lunar eclipse, he's happy. And maybe I don't have the blood of that virgin anymore, but now I have something better . . . I have you."

A chill ran down Sam's spine at her words. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm not a virgin," he said.

"No, you're something else entirely, aren't you? You're the boy who was once fated to be Lucifer's vessel on earth."

Sam couldn't hide the shudder that ran through him at the mention of Lucifer's name. It always came back to Lucifer.

The witch leaned closer, putting her face near Sam's neck as she inhaled deeply. "You're the boy who would have been king; the hunter who has been possessed by demons and angels alike; the man who has been marinating in a world of magic spells and arcane rituals since he was a child. Just _delicious_!" She stood on her tiptoes until her lips brushed against his ear. "You are a fine, juicy steak. Virgin or not, that boy you saved was chicken nuggets from a drive-through in comparison."

Sam tried to move his head away, hating the feel of her warm breath on his face. "You're lying."

"Not even a little," the witch smiled.

Her smile was anything but friendly, and Sam felt a wave of unease wash through him.

"Your blood is more rare than any virgin," she intoned, almost reverently. "You know this, you know this to be true. Your lifeblood will power such spells, Sam Winchester!"

Sam tried to shake his head. "It won't work. It's not going to happen."

"Please! You think big brother will save you? He's not here, is he?" The woman moved away and started gathering up her supplies. She wasted no time repositioning them on the tombstone and resuming her mixing. "My guess is that you boys weren't sure which cemetery was the one I was going to use. Dean went to the wrong one, didn't he? All the way across town . . . he'll never get back here in time."

"Then I'll stop you myself," Sam promised.

He pulled against the witch's hold with all his might, muscles tensing and cording against the strain. He gritted his teeth as he fought to free himself from the magic holding him down, but it was hopeless.

The witch laughed as she watched him struggle.

Sam didn't give up, despite knowing that the only way he'd be moving again would be to burn the hex bag at his feet. He swore as his head pounded with the effort and finally the witch had apparently had enough.

She made a flicking motion that pressed Sam's head back against the granite obelisk at an uncomfortable angle. Then she cut off his air.

Sam's mouth gaped as he struggled to draw breath and his hands fisted uselessly at his sides. Just when he thought he would pass out, the witch released her invisible hold on his throat and he stood gasping for air, held up on his feet only by the powers of the woman in front of him.

" _Tsk tsk_ ," she said, not even taking her eyes off the mixture she was concocting on the tombstone. "I'd really like you conscious for this, but it isn't a requirement. Be good or I may have to get creative."

Sam coughed harshly, but didn't try to speak. He glanced upwards and was alarmed to see the eclipse was already approaching totality.

"There!" The witch announced almost cheerfully. "We're ready!"

She walked over to Sam, her movements unhurried despite the time factor. She carried the bowl of herbs and carefully dipped her fingers in it.

"This part won't hurt," she promised with a sly grin. It went without saying that the next part would most definitely hurt.

She traced the mixture across Sam's forehead and down his nose, reciting a spell as she did. The herbs smelled earthy and pungent. Sam would have tried to place them, but he was starting to get more than a little worried. His skin tingled where the herbs touched him and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. He hated feeling helpless. He hated being unable to break free of the woman's grasp.

And he absolutely hated the alarmingly sharp ceremonial dagger that she pulled from her belt and held in front of him.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Over 400 years old, it's spilled the blood of countless sacrifices. If you believe the stories, some people even say it was used by Elizabeth Bathory herself as she chased after immortality. You should be honoured to be die by such a . . . historic weapon."

Sam wasn't about to let that happen. Threat or no threat, he opened his mouth to try something - anything - but he was thwarted again.

The witch simply smiled and covered his mouth with her hand as she brought the knife up.

The words of her spell were lost on Sam as his eyes remained fixed in horror on the blade that would end his life as he simply stood utterly helpless before it. He fought, never ceasing his frantic efforts to free himself, but the dagger found its way to his throat, resting lightly against his adam's apple. Sam didn't dare to swallow.

"Your blood will pave the way for a century of darkness, Sam Winchester," the witch promised in a low, sultry voice. "My demon and I will use it for something very special."

"Hey!" A shout rang out from somewhere off to Sam's right. He couldn't move his head to see, but he didn't have to.

Dean was there.

Relief flooded through him even though the witch's knife was still pressed against his skin.

The witch turned to face the new threat, removing her hand from Sam's mouth, but keeping the dagger in place at his neck. "Dean! We thought you wouldn't make it in time."

"Oh, I'm nothing if not punctual," Dean replied. "I also happen to be really quick when it comes to checking out cemeteries for blood sacrifices and even better at breaking speed limits to rescue my pain-in-the-ass little brother. How about you let him go and I let you live?"

The witch smiled, pressing her blade closer to Sam's neck as though to demonstrate that she was not intimidated by Dean. "Or what? You'll shoot me? Bullets won't have much effect, I'm afraid."

"These ones will," Dean promised. "Witch-killing bullets. They'll kill you dead."

The witch pursed her lips, apparently uncertain if Dean might possibly be telling the truth. She glanced up at the sky where the lunar eclipse was nearing its height.

Her grip on the dagger tightened as she made her decision, and Sam braced himself for what would undoubtedly prove a painful experience. Before the witch could do more than look back at Sam, the sound of a gunshot split the night and her eyes widened in shock. The dagger jerked as the witch's body shuddered at the impact. Sam winced as he felt the blade nick him, but then the witch was falling.

She hit the ground with a soft thump, the knife dropping from limp fingers as she stilled.

Dean was moving forward immediately, checking the body to ensure that the witch was truly dead. "You okay, Sam?"

"I will be once you burn that hex bag," he answered, more than ready to be able to move again.

He watched as his brother did just that, sending the bag up in a flash of fire and smoke.

Sam found himself suddenly released from the granite monument and he staggered slightly as he managed to keep his feet. Bringing his hand up, Sam felt the wound at his neck. There was a small amount of blood, but he was relieved that it was likely nothing to worry about. He was more concerned with just what might be lingering on the ancient dagger. He certainly didn't want some 400 year old blood-borne disease.

He bent to pick the dagger up, tucking it away in his waistband. No sense leaving it for the next witch to find.

"How'd you get here so quick?" Sam asked. "You must have broken every speed limit getting here."

Dean shrugged as he finally lowered his gun, satisfied that the witch was dead. "I broke them on the way to the first cemetery, too. Figured I'd either get there early and stop the sacrifice or I'd be there early enough to find out she wasn't there at all. That turned out to be the case. Then I just hauled ass to get here."

"It was good timing," Sam confirmed.

"So," Dean said slowly, a smile creeping over his face. "She was going to sacrifice you, was she?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I know where you're going with this, and you can stop right now."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Dean shrugged, not bothering to hide his amusement. "I was just drawing a conclusion based on the fact that it's supposed to be a blood sacrifice of a virgin on the night of a lunar eclipse and I walked in to find you on the wrong end of the knife. I think the circumstances speak for themselves."

With a groan, Sam made his way over to the altar. They still had cleanup to do, and he certainly wasn't looking forward to his brother's teasing for the rest of the night.

"Do you want to stop at a bar somewhere?" Dean asked innocently. "You can find a nice girl and then you won't have to worry about things like this happening anymore."

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"No," Dean shook his head. "Probably not."

Sam sighed, simultaneously irritated and amused by his brother's behaviour. "You're a jerk, you know that, right?"

"You wouldn't have it any other way," Dean replied with a grin. "Bitch."


	25. Go forward, do not stray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is in the woods at night, but he's definitely not alone

Pre-series (set while Sam is at Stanford)

* * *

Dean staggered, barely managing to put one foot in front of the other without falling over. His vision swam and he felt nauseated; he wanted to lie down and curl into a ball, but he knew that he wouldn't get back up again if he let himself drop to the ground.

The path stretched out in front of him, impossibly straight for a dirt line in the middle of the woods, and representing the only way out for the wounded hunter. There was nothing natural about the trail, however, and Dean gritted his teeth as he stumbled forward.

The voices called to him in melodious tones, beckoning and coaxing as they tried to get him to follow them into the darkness.

Dean hummed to himself, trying to drown out the sweetly intoxicating sounds of the beings in the trees. If he left the path, Dean knew he was dead, or the next thing to it. He should never have gone into the woods alone to begin with, but it was too late now.

He had to stay focussed. He had to keep his aching head from letting him give in. He had to keep going. One step and then another.

He couldn't stray from the path.

The voices laughed, the sound light and merry, promising warmth and comfort.

All he had to do was follow them.

Dean hummed louder, even though every note sent a pulse of agony through his skull. He should have waited for Dad. He should never have tried to find the missing hikers himself.

He should have left the woods before dark.

The faint glow from the trees unnerved Dean more than he wanted to admit. His own flashlight was long gone, having been dropped during his desperate flight. Even more concerning was the light mist that seemed to flow right up to the path, never quite crossing onto the dirt trail. It almost formed a tunnel through which the lone path stretched, an eerie and unnatural walkway that seemed far more dangerous than the lights in the woods.

It was all an illusion, though. The path was the way to safety. The lights were dangerous. They had already proven to be the downfall of at least one of the hikers, a brute of a man who clocked Dean in the head rather than let himself be led away from the captivating light. He was the reason Dean could barely make out the trail in front of him and why it hurt so much to even blink his eyes. The hunter could hardly blame the spell-bound man for his actions, but it hurt nonetheless.

When he got out of the woods, Dean was going to come back with reinforcements and do whatever it took to clear the menace from the trees.

_If_ he got out of the woods.

Dean gritted his teeth. He had to move forward. He couldn't stray from the path.

_'Dean . . . come to us.'_

The voice called to him by name and Dean faltered in his steps. The voice was familiar, like something out of a dream.

Move forward. Don't go into the woods.

One foot in front of the other.

_'Dean, sweetheart, we're waiting for you. Join us.'_

It sounded like home, like the promise of warmth and protection on a cold night. It sounded like his mother and the resulting ache in Dean's chest surprised him. The voice brought tears to his eyes, further blurring his already-compromised vision.

Keep moving.

Don't listen to them.

Don't go into the woods.

Ignore the pounding headache.

Don't give in.

Dean kept walking.

The oppressive darkness of the path ahead was closing in on him. The beings were all around him with their strange glow and warm laughter. It took every bit of Dean's willpower to keep moving. His steps were growing heavy. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to be safe. His head throbbed from the hiker's surprise attack, but at least it was no longer bleeding.

_'You're going the wrong way, Dean. Come to us. We'll protect you. You don't have to be alone.'_

He wanted to plug his ears, but it was too much effort to raise his hands. The words wormed their way into his mind, raising doubt and worry.

What if Dean wasn't going the right way? What if he'd gotten turned around and was actually following the path _deeper_ into the woods? What if he was hopelessly lost, already under the spell of the glowing figures in the woods? Even now, Dean didn't want to call them fairies.

_'You've strayed from the path, Dean. You're lost and we can help you. Let us help you.'_

Dean blinked as the path seemed to disappear in front of his eyes. Despair flooded through him as his worst fear came to pass. He was lost and had no idea how to get free.

_'Come to us, Dean. There's nothing to fear.'_

Except there _was_ something to fear. Dean clenched his fists. He had to keep going.

He had to go forward. He could not stray from the path.

Even though he couldn't see it, Dean had to believe it was there. He had to focus. He had to keep going. He couldn't go into the woods or he would be lost forever.

The voices called to him, begging him to join them and promising him aid and safety if only he came to them.

Dean started humming again.

_'We can make beautiful music for you. Such lovely music. Come sing with us.'_

Don't listen to them.

Go forward, do not stray.

Ignore the pain.

One foot in front of the other.

_'Please, Dean! Please come to us. We miss you. We can make you happy.'_

Dean hadn't been happy, _truly happy_ , in a long time, but the voices couldn't change that. He needed to ignore them. He hummed louder, trying occasionally to sing the words as he staggered forwards.

How much farther could it be? How far had he gone in the first place?

The voices were growing louder, their voices pleading. They needed him. They wanted him to stay with them. They could be his home.

He could see his brother again.

Dean's breath hitched as they called Sam by name. It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over his senses bringing clarity from the fog.

Sam wasn't with them. Sam was in California living his normal life and not doing anything in a forest full of glowing beings.

Sam was real. The path was real. The voices were trying to lead him astray.

Dean pulled himself up as straight as he could manage and kept moving.

Forward. Don't stray.

Ignore them all.

Keep going.

The voices were all around him, growing more insistent with every step Dean took until he could no longer hear his own voice as he sang Metallica songs to himself.

He refused to listen.

He wouldn't give in.

He kept his eyes on the path, never once turning his gaze to the increasingly agitated lights that swirled beside him. He let the voices wash over him, reminding himself again and again that they were not there to help him.

The path widened in front of him and Dean took another stumbling step forward.

Into sudden and complete silence.

Dean blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. It was like waking from a dream as the world became real once more. He was standing in a clearing and he was alone. Everything looked normal again. There was no sign of the luminescent beings who had hounded his steps. The lack of voices was almost more alarming than their presence had been, and he found himself turning back to see what had happened.

Nothing was there. No fog, no lights, no trail.

Dean gaped for a moment, trying to see the path that he had followed with such exhausting focus. There was no sign of the forest ever having had a dirt path.

It was as if whoever was chasing him had suddenly given up, taking all signs of their existence with them.

The fear that he had felt was melting away.

Why had he been so worried in the first place?

Dean recognized the location; he had passed the clearing on his way into the forest. He was only an hour or so from where he had parked the car. From this point on, the trees would thin out until they reached the road.

It couldn't have been a coincidence that the lights had faded as soon as Dean had gotten out of the thickest part of the woods.

_Lights_? Why had he thought that?

_What lights_?

A shiver ran down Dean's spine and he pulled out his phone to see if he could get a signal. He swore under his breath as the device revealed the time - 5:30 in the morning. He had been wandering in the woods for over twelve hours!

Dad was going to freak out, especially since Dean hadn't told his father of his plans to search for the missing hikers in the first place and his nocturnal wanderings hadn't produced any results.

There was no way Dean wasn't getting an earful about this one.

Dean ran a shaking hand through his hair, wincing as he touched a tender and bruised area.

_What had happened to his head?_

He glanced at his fingers, relieved to find that there was no blood on them. He must have hit it on a tree branch or something.

He was probably going to get an earful about that, too.

Dean sighed and started back to the car, already dialling his father's number.

Might as well get that phone call over with.

With any luck, maybe the older man had found something. They might be able to wrap the hunt up quickly and move on.

Dean hoped that was the case. If Dad had come up with something, he wouldn't be too angry about Dean's solo hike. Maybe they could even stop for breakfast at that little diner in town. The waitress was quite pretty and the breakfast menu had some intriguing options that Dean wanted to try.

He hummed softly to himself as he walked, raising the phone to his ear as he waited for Dad to answer.

Everything was going to be fine.


	26. But if you cannot see it, is it really there?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is alive and Sam is going to save him. It's the only acceptable outcome.

_I'm not quite sure about this one . . . the challenge phrase just struck me as a little forced in terms of tone. I crammed it in somewhere anyway, though, so I guess it counts. :)_

* * *

Sam pulled at the debris, hurling it aside with the desperate motions of a man at the brink, so close to the breaking point that it would only take a slight push to send him over the edge.

His fingers were bleeding - _ruined, cut, sliced and bruised_ \- from his frantic efforts to dig. He needed to clear the way. He needed to move the wood, bricks, and drywall that kept him from his brother. There was nothing else in his world but the barrier between them and Sam was going to take it down or die trying.

Dean needed him.

Dean was trapped, hurt, and alone - he was waiting for Sam to save him, and Sam was going to come through for him, no matter how long it took.

Sweat poured from Sam's brow as he worked, heedless of the pain in his hands and the ache growing in his back. The bricks were rough and the abrasive surfaces scoured the skin from his fingers as he grabbed them and hurled them away as quickly as he could.

It wasn't fast enough. It would never be fast enough.

Every moment he spent trying to save Dean was another moment his brother had to spend trapped in a dark and claustrophobic hole.

He had no idea how long Dean had been in the basement. How much time had passed since the explosion had collapsed the only way in or out of the underground room? Sam's ears were still ringing, so it couldn't have been that long, _right_?

It should never have come to this.

The brothers had just gone in to retrieve a curse box. That was it. Dean should never have been in any danger, but everything had gone wrong and now he was buried under a pile of rubble and Sam had long since lost his grip on calm professionalism.

How could anyone have ever predicted that the eccentric hoarder of occult objects would have rigged his hidey-hole to explode rather than risk having his collection stolen or confiscated by conscientious hunters? The side wall of the house was completely gone, knocked inward to destroy the only access point to the basement. Sam refused to consider the possibility that the basement itself had not survived the explosion, even though the collector was thorough in his destructive tendencies. As soon as Sam saved his brother, he was going to find the explosive-loving lunatic and teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget.

That was definitely for later. Dean was the priority now.

Sam tried to convince himself that Dean would be fine; he had to be. The basement was large enough; there would still be air. The room was intact and Dean was unharmed. It was the only scenario that Sam would accept.

Sam's phone had been broken during the explosion, leaving him unable to call his brother. Dean hadn't answered Sam's desperate shouts, either. There was a lot of debris in the way . . . maybe he just couldn't hear him. Sam had nothing to work with - there was no way of letting Dean know that he wasn't alone, no way of knowing if Dean was okay, no way of getting him out faster.

There was no question of Sam leaving to go get help. He couldn't abandon Dean to the underground prison. There was no way he could simply drive away to find a working phone and leave his brother to the panic and fear that was no doubt eating at him even as Sam fought to free him.

The only thing he could do was work his fingers raw and bloody, fighting against the urge to cough from the dust and debris; struggling through growing exhaustion as he clawed his way through a veritable mountain of collapsed ceiling and wall. He couldn't let himself worry about the questionable structural integrity of the building. He couldn't even spare a moment of concern for the possibility of more booby-traps. He could only look for any sign of his brother's presence and hope that his efforts would be enough.

Sam knew better than to trust to hope. It was fickle, something that had burnt him more frequently than it had helped him. Still, hope flickered around the edges of his thoughts like a moth drawn to a flame, demanding that he acknowledge it and let it in.

Hope was the only thing he had left. Hope, and the almost tangible sense that Dean was alive.

It was only a sense. Sam wanted to believe, but if you cannot see it, is it really there?

Was he fooling himself - following a delusion when his brother could already be crushed and dead under the debris?

Sam let out a guttural sob as the thought stole his breath. Dean wasn't dead. There was no way!

Sam wasn't going to let that happen.

He doubled his efforts, throwing aside wooden supports and barely wincing as the sharp nails dug into his exposed skin. He was bleeding from dozens of cuts, but Dean could be bleeding from a thousand, and that was a possibility Sam couldn't stomach.

He called out again, shouting Dean's name until his voice cracked and he had to give in to the urge to cough.

Still he pulled at the pile, not even wincing as his fingernails were split and torn from his flayed fingers. There was nothing but the debris that kept his brother trapped below ground, and Sam was going to move it all.

His vision tunnelled, laser-focussed on the task at hand. He almost didn't see it at first as a dark cavity revealed itself in the pile . . . the top of the staircase!

Sam could have wept, but it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He kept going, leaning down into the recess and pulling everything he could from the opening as he gradually cleared the steps of the rubble that blocked it.

"Dean!" he called, desperately straining for any sound or sign from his brother. He could hardly hear anything with his still-ringing ears, but he carried on.

More bricks, more wood, more drywall and nails and splinters and blood. Sam finally had a space large enough to peer into.

He pressed his face close to the opening, willing his eyes to adjust to the complete darkness beyond. "Dean?"

Something moved in the shadows, and Sam yelped in surprise as a hand shot out of the hole and gripped his wrist in a desperately tight grip.

"Dean!" Sam cried in relief as his brother's bloodied face came into focus. The older Winchester looked horrible, battered and bruised with a bloody gash on his forehead, but he was alive.

To Sam's eyes, he had never looked better. The relief that raced through him almost made him dizzy. He had hoped, but seeing Dean in front of him, verifiably alive, was almost more than his mind could handle. Sam felt exceedingly close to crying. He fought back the tears and concentrated on freeing his brother.

"Are you okay," Sam asked breathlessly as he scooped more debris out of the way. He was working one-handed as Dean had apparently claimed his other hand with no inclination to release his hold on Sam's wrist. Sam wasn't about to press the issue. "Dean?"

"Sammy? What's going on?" Dean's eyes blinked slowly and his glassy gaze spoke of a concussion at the very least. They could deal with a concussion, though. They could handle anything as long as Dean was alive.

"I'm going to get you out, okay?" Sam assured the other man. "Everything is going to be fine now."

Clearing the wreckage seemed to go faster now that Dean was within sight. Even though Sam was digging with one hand, the drive to get his brother free gave him newfound strength. When Dean finally emerged from his underground prison, wincing in the light, Sam finally let himself breathe.

It was only after he began checking Dean's head wound that he realized his brother was carrying something with him, carefully cradled between his arm and his body. Sam gently pried Dean's grip open and let out a shaky laugh at the sight that greeted him.

"You got the curse box?" Sam looked at his sibling in amazement. "You spent who knows how long trapped in a basement while suffering from a head injury, but you still got the curse box?"

"It's 'cause I'm amazing," Dean muttered, clearly exhausted from his ordeal.

"Sure, you are," Sam replied with a weary grin. It was a standard response from his brother, and while it was completely true, he couldn't let it go to Dean's head. "Let's get out of here, Mr. Amazing. There's a doctor somewhere just waiting for you."

_"Great."_ The words were soft, but the fact that Dean didn't protest spoke volumes as to his physical state.

It didn't matter. Dean was alive. Everything else they could handle.


	27. Remember? You have to remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have a quiet moment to reminisce.

* * *

Dean took a long swig of his beer, smiling slightly to himself.

For once, everything was perfect. They were safe; nothing was trying to kill him or his brother. There were no hunts vying for his attention, no end-of-the-world crises threatening the lives of millions. Neither Winchester was injured, cursed, haunted, hexed, or heartbroken.

_At least for the moment_ , but Dean would take what he could get.

Sam shifted beside him and Dean nodded approvingly as the younger Winchester finally got around to having a drink from his own open bottle of beer. Normally, Dean would have worried at where Sam's thoughts were taking him, but not tonight.

Tonight, he knew exactly what was holding Sam's attention and Dean wouldn't break that spell for all the world. Tonight, it was the heavens themselves that enthralled his brother. The stars were shining so brightly, they almost reflected off the hood of the Impala. If anyone had asked, Dean would have sworn that he had never seen them with such perfect clarity as he was seeing them at that moment.

The brothers were in the middle of absolute nowhere. There was darkness all around them, but it wasn't anything to fear. It was almost a security blanket - a cloak that hid them from the rest of the world until it was only the two of them sitting on the hood of the car and staring at the sky.

They didn't get to do this nearly enough. It was times like this that let them breathe; that reminded them exactly why they were fighting. Comfortable silence stretched between them, the kind that came from years of companionship and of knowing what the other person would say before they even opened their mouth to speak.

Tomorrow, they would be back to the hunt. The spell would be broken and the silent peace would flee in the face of blood and fear. Dean frowned and took another drink. He wished that he could just stop time. If they could just stay in the field forever, watching the stars and drinking beer, life would be perfect. He tried to force the melancholy thoughts down, hating that his mind was seeking to draw him back into reality. He wasn't ready to go.

"Do you remember Hyakutake?" Sam asked suddenly.

" _Gesundheit_ ," Dean replied.

Sam snorted. "Seriously. It was that comet that went by in March of 1996. We were in Idaho at the time."

Dean shrugged.

"It was all over the news and I begged you to drive me somewhere so we could see it without light pollution. Remember? You have to remember. That's not the sort of thing anyone could forget!"

"I remember it was cold," Dean replied jokingly. In truth, he vividly recalled the event. The brothers snuck out and drove to a dark field, not unlike the one they were currently in, and watched the comet for hours. Sam had been thrilled, going on about various astronomical phenomena and pointing out features of the comet. Dean had simply let his sibling ramble, content to listen to the excited lecture with a tolerant smirk.

"That was something to see," Sam said wistfully.

Dean nodded in agreement. It _had_ been pretty cool.

"And that time that we were driving somewhere, I can't remember where, and there was that meteor shower? It must have been the Perseids, because it was summer. I'd forgotten all about it and it wasn't until we were on the back roads and saw a shooting star that we remembered."

"It was after that poltergeist hunt, right?" Dean asked. "We were both banged up, but we stopped and watched the show for a few hours anyway."

Sam smiled. "Being out there was probably better for us than nursing our bruises in a motel room anyway."

Dean couldn't help but agree. It had been a welcome distraction and an opportunity to let the adrenaline fade from his system.

"We've seen a lot," Sam continued. "So many eclipses . . . So many nights where some planet was brighter in the sky than ever before -"

"And the Milky Way . . . "

They had seen the Milky Way countless times, but it never failed to impress Dean. Not that he would ever tell anyone, but it was like seeing the universe and realizing just how small he was in comparison. Sometimes that thought scared him as he dealt with events far bigger than he could comprehend. The fate of the world, life and death, God and monsters . . . how could all of that rest on him and Sam? It was a terrible weight to carry.

Other times, it brought him comfort. He was tiny and insignificant. All his mistakes were not even a blip on the cosmic scale. In the vastness of existence, Dean Winchester was impossibly unimportant. If earth blinked out of being, no one would ever think to look for it. It would never be missed by the universe.

It was a strange thing to take comfort in, but sometimes that was all Dean had.

"I wish we could stay here forever," Sam admitted, his voice soft as he stared up at the sky.

"Me too, Sammy," Dean answered. "Me too."


	28. I felt it. You know what I mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The brothers travel to Sioux Falls to help Jody on a case.

Here's something a little different: a two-parter featuring Jody Mills! This takes place after the Leviathan storyline, but sometime before ' _Alex Annie Alexis Ann_ '. Also, the boys aren't fighting in this because I like it when they get along. :)

Anyway, this one is a little bit darker with a side of angst . . .

* * *

"It's good to see you boys!" Jody grinned as she pulled Dean into a tight hug almost before the hunter managed to shut the door to the Impala.

Sam watched with a smirk as the older Winchester hugged her back, squeezing her tightly. When Jody released Dean and turned to Sam, he couldn't fight the infectious happiness on the sheriff's face. He leaned into her warm embrace, trying not to let himself think that it was probably what a mother's hug felt like.

Jody was family, one of the few people remaining who the brothers knew unequivocally had their backs. She made no secret of her affection for them and she had never once let them down or made them doubt their place in her world.

And, for what it was worth, the feeling was more than mutual. The Winchesters held her well-being in high priority. They would move heaven and earth for Sheriff Jody Mills. They would also show up at her house unannounced between hunts, eat the food in her fridge, and crash on her couch, but Jody never complained. She fed them, housed them, patched them up, and sent them off with leftovers and orders to call her more frequently.

She called them her boys and it never ceased to make Sam blush with some indefinable emotion.

After losing Bobby, he'd never thought that there would be anyone else who would care so deeply about their well-being. Jody was caring and maternal, but also more than willing to lecture when she thought it necessary. She was comfort and tough love at the same time, frequently proving to be a cool head with good advice when one brother or the other was getting too pigheaded for his own good. She backed them up on hunts that people with far more experience would have turned down, and she did it with a calm professionalism that any hunter would have been grateful to possess.

So, when Jody called them for advice, it went without saying that the Winchesters were heading to South Dakota.

Sioux Falls itself was both a place of respite and sorrow. It had been a constant refuge in their childhood when the brothers stayed with _Uncle Bobby_. Even when Bobby's home had been destroyed, somehow Sam had clung to the belief that they would rebuild it once the Leviathan threat had been dealt with. Instead, Bobby had died and all hope of things going back to the way they were had been ripped to shreds. Sioux Falls became a painful memory. It was a reminder of everything they had lost and the first few times they had returned, Sam had struggled with the depth of that loss. Visiting the city felt like re-opening a gaping wound that would never heal.

It had taken a long time before he could start thinking of it as _visiting Jody_ instead of _going to Sioux Falls_.

The pain was still there, but it was easier to bear when Jody took them in.

Sam blinked, trying to hide the fact that his eyes were tearing up. Dean would never let him forget it if he saw that a simple hug from Jody Mills could have him crying. Then again, maybe Dean's eyes weren't exactly dry, either. Sam managed to keep the smile on his face.

"So, what's the latest?" Dean asked, drawing attention back to the matter at hand.

Jody had called them for a reason - there would be time for visiting after.

"Well, two days ago, I had what I _thought_ was a domestic dispute. We went in and found Jim Johnston beating his wife - he nearly killed her. I had two deputies with me and the guy still managed to get away."

"So he's fast and he's a wife-beater," Dean frowned. "The dude sounds like a dick."

"Oh, he is," Jody agreed. "At least, he _was_. Jim Johnston died three days ago. His wife, Monica, shot him in self defence a full 24 hours _before_ he tried to kill her."

"So dead-Jim rose from the grave to exact vengeance on Monica for killing him?" Sam asked. "Could be one of a few things . . . zombie, ghoul, spirit-"

"Definitely not a spirit," Jody cut in, already shaking her head. "It was solid. I felt it. _You know what I mean_."

She turned a mock glare to Dean, who didn't quite manage to wipe the amused grin from his face at Jody's words.

"Sorry, Jody. What do you mean, you _felt_ it?" he asked with a snicker.

"Whatever it was, it was there physically," Jody explained. "And its skin was . . . strange. I grabbed him to pull him off Monica and it was like his skin wasn't even attached to him."

"Like it shifted in your grip?" Dean guessed. "Like you could have ripped it off like really disgusting wrapping paper?"

"Exactly," Jody nodded, her eyes narrowing. "You already know what it is, don't you?"

The brothers exchanged a look and Dean nodded for Sam to give the breakdown.

"It sounds like a shapeshifter," Sam said, grimacing at the thought. "They have the ability to take the form of other people. When they want to change skin, they just rip it off and start again. They can literally be anyone they want to be and they can access the thoughts and memories of whoever they're impersonating."

"That sounds horrible," Jody said. "Kind of like the Leviathans?"

"Kind of," Sam agreed. "Leviathans could take your shape and access your memories, but they worked together. They had a hierarchy and a mission - they took over people in key strategic locations and everyone else was going to be food. Shifters aren't like that. They'll go after anyone that fits their particular victim profile. They're loners and they're only out for themselves."

"They can be hard to track down," Dean added, "but the good news is that they aren't really that hard to kill. Silver will do it and decapitation is good, too."

"Wow," Jody breathed. "And you're telling me that this thing can be anyone in the entire city? Where the hell do you start to look for something like that?"

"You find its lair," Sam offered. "They seem to like underground hideouts like the sewers."

"These things are pretty gross," Dean agreed. "They also have a weird effect on camera. If light catches their eyes, it'll appear as a sort of retinal reaction or flare. It's quick and easy to miss if you aren't looking for it."

Jody shook her head slowly. "This is one of the weirder things you boys have told me, but I guess I can work with that. What I don't get is why would one of these things pretend to be Jim Johnston? He was an abusive drunk with a mountain of debt and a dead-end job. He didn't exactly have a lot to offer."

Dean sighed. "We ran into a shifter in St. Louis and it seemed like its only goal was to cause pain. It'd take the form of a man in a happy relationship and use that body to torture and kill the wife or girlfriend while framing the guy for it. Another one was killing people and taking their forms so it could rob jewellery stores and banks. Honestly, I don't think there's much to work with other than the fact that they seem to want to hurt people."

"Well, seeing the man who had terrorized her for years come back from the dead would have hurt Monica," Jody agreed. "Am I right in assuming that this thing isn't finished yet?"

"It's a safe bet," Dean confirmed. "It can do pretty much anything it wants without fear of getting caught. Most of the time, local law enforcement doesn't even know that these things exist, so it probably isn't too worried about covering its tracks."

Sam leaned back against the Impala's hood. "We don't know why it picked Jim and Monica, but there may be other cases that will help narrow down how it's choosing its victims. Any other recent assaults with a similar MO? Abusive spouses?"

Jody gave a bitter laugh, clearly finding no humour in the situation. "Unfortunately, more than a couple abusive spouses. None of them came back from the dead, though."

"We'll need to see the files for those cases anyway," Sam said. "You never know what might help."

Jody nodded. "Can do."

"And any blueprints you have of the city sewer system," Dean added. "We're gonna end up down there sooner or later, so we may as well start looking at it now."

"Sounds fun. I can't wait."

Sam smiled at the dry tone in the sheriff's voice. Jody was most definitely _not_ looking forward to a trip in the sewers, but once again she was willing to do whatever was required.

"I'll stop by the office and pick up the files. You boys head to the house and I'll meet you there. No sense scaring the deputies with talk of resurrected wife-beaters."

"Yes, ma'am," Dean smirked.

"Don't you _'yes ma'am'_ me, Dean Winchester," Jody warned teasingly. "Now get going, I'll be there soon."

* * *

They did, in fact, end up in the sewers sooner rather than later.

Out of the dishearteningly thick stack of files that Jody had brought for review, there were four possible matches dating back over six months that could have been the work of a shifter. In all four cases, the husbands had been arrested based on forensic evidence, eyewitness accounts, a long history of abuse, and surveillance footage. Even with the men in jail, it wasn't the happy ending anyone had hoped for. Two of the victims were dead and the other two were so traumatized that Jody hadn't been able to get much useful information from them. In each case, the husband claimed to have been somewhere else at the time, but no one had believed them or been able to prove an alibi.

Sam didn't even try to muster any sympathy for them. They may not have killed or tried to kill their wives on that particular night, but they had done so before on numerous occasions. He and Dean would do what they could to stop the shifter, but beyond that, it was Jody's can of worms.

The brothers had mapped out the crime scene locations with the blueprint of the sewers and found a possible starting point for their search. They had parked in a little-used area of the city, near the warehouse district. All in all, it was an ideal location to start the hunt - a quiet place to park that wasn't too far from the main sewer lines; somewhere where they would likely not be noticed. It wouldn't do to have the entire population of Sioux Falls watching as their sheriff crawled into a manhole armed to the teeth so she could hunt monsters.

They were also not waiting for nightfall. Odds were that the shifter would be sleeping during the day and out causing mayhem at night, so the chances were better of finding it unaware.

Dean had gone to break open the metal grating locked in place over the entrance, leaving Sam and Jody to get the weapons together. Even as they were separated, Sam kept an eye on his brother, who was just far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear when Jody finally turned to him.

He'd been expecting it for awhile. Jody had been giving him glances all morning, but he wasn't entirely sure what she was going to say.

"You're awfully quiet," Jody said. "Everything okay?"

Sam nodded slightly. "I'm just not overly fond of shapeshifters."

"Dean told me about the one he killed in St. Louis. Said it got him framed for murder and beat the crap out of you while wearing Dean's face?"

_Ah. So that explained the sidelong looks._ He should have guessed.

"Yeah," Sam grimaced at the memory. "That's not why I hate them, though."

"That's not enough of a reason?" Jody looked a little surprised.

Sam shrugged and re-checked his gun, making sure it was loaded and ready to go. He had spare rounds, but he was hoping to take care of the problem with a single shot if possible.

"Why then?"

He didn't really want to go into it, but the more information Jody had, the greater her chances of coming out alive. Sam sucked it up and turned to face her.

"Every time we've gone up against something like this it ends badly for us in some way. When that shifter took Dean's form, I _knew_ it wasn't him," Sam confessed. "I knew it almost immediately. There was just something _off_. I had my gun ready; I could have taken it down right then and there, but I hesitated."

"It couldn't have been easy," Jody surmised gently. "He looked like your brother."

Sam gave a small huff. "Because I hesitated, that thing managed to run around with Dean's face and it did things that Dean had to live with. Even after it was over, every time we had a run in with the police, St. Louis kept cropping up. _How did Dean fake his own death? Why was he such a screwed up serial killer_? He took it really well, but it was hard on him. He'd spent his life helping people and then suddenly he was vilified; Dean Winchester was a psychopathic killer who got off on torturing people. That was his legacy."

Jody frowned, her forehead creasing as she looked up at Sam. "That's hardly your fault."

"Maybe not," Sam admitted, "but if I had just taken that shot, we could have avoided that. Dean could have stayed off the FBI radar and things would have been a lot better for him."

Dean had made jokes about his supposed death at the time, but Sam had never found the matter funny. It hadn't helped when the story had taken off in the news; Sam's former classmates had sent him countless emails expressing their shock at the fact that Sam's brother had been a monster. One had even dared to wonder if Dean himself had been responsible for killing Jessica - after all, she had died right after Dean had reappeared in Sam's life, and to all appearances, Dean had stolen Sam away shortly after her funeral, never to be seen again. Sam had never mentioned those emails to Dean.

Jody moved to speak, but Sam cut her off.

"That's the thing, Jody. With a shapeshifter, it can be _anyone_. Family, friends, innocent victims . . . it wants you off guard. It wants to make it hard for you to kill it; it wants you to doubt yourself and it wants you to suffer because of it. But you can't hesitate. If you aren't prepared to make that split-second decision, or if you don't act the _second_ the opportunity presents itself, it's probably already too late."

Jody nodded slowly. "And no matter how many times you face these things, you can't help but hesitate, can you?"

A brief humourless smile flickered across Sam's face. "There have been a lot of things that have used Dean's face over the years and I have never _not_ hesitated. I guess when it comes down to it, I'd rather die than hurt my brother and that's exactly what those things are counting on."

"And that's why we're not splitting up on this one," Jody said firmly. "If it doesn't get a chance to separate us, it can't take our forms. Or if it tries, we'll know which one is the impostor as soon as it shows its face."

"Just . . . don't hesitate, okay?" Sam said seriously. "If you think you're in danger, you need to take the shot and you can't let it get close to you."

"I won't hesitate," Jody promised, but Sam knew that she would. How could she not?

Dean cleared his throat, not-so-subtly announcing his presence. Sam wasn't sure how much of the conversation he had overheard, but judging by his brother's serious expression, it was enough.

"Did you get the grate off?" Jody asked.

"Ready to go," Dean replied, holding up a large pair of bolt-cutters. "It put up a fight, but I won in the end."

"Let's hope that luck holds," Jody said lightly.

Dean took a moment to secure a machete to his belt and take the gun and ammo that Sam offered him. When they were all ready, they made their way to the sewer entrance, flicking on their flashlights as they stared into the dark abyss.

Jody took a deep breath. "So, who goes first?"

Wordlessly, Sam and Dean put out their fists.

"Seriously? Are you guys doing _rock, paper, scissors_?" Jody asked incredulously.

"It's easier this way," Sam replied. He brought his fist down as a rock, ready to smash Dean's scissors, but was instead greeted by his brother's outstretched palm - _paper_.

He looked up with surprised eyes; Dean _always_ used scissors.

Dean didn't look nearly as surprised as Sam felt; he merely took the lead in a silent movement and started down into the tunnel.

"I feel like I just missed something here," Jody muttered as she trailed behind the elder Winchester.

Sam didn't answer. He just took a deep breath and followed the others into the darkness.

_To be continued_ . . .


	29. At least it can't get any worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jody and the boys search for a shapeshifter in the sewers.

Here's part 2 of yesterday's chapter. This one got almost long enough to be a standalone story, but it was kind of fun to write. Angst abounds!

* * *

Jody followed along behind Dean, watching carefully for any hazards in the darkened tunnels. She'd done a lot of crazy things in her life, but heading into the sewers in search of a murderous shapeshifter was right up there on the list. If the creature wasn't enough of a worry, the sewers themselves were proving to be a distraction.

The farther they went into the tunnels, the more oppressive the passageways seemed. Jody wasn't exactly claustrophobic, but she wasn't particularly fond of being trapped underground, either. Added to that was the fact that the sewers were full of death traps; sections dropped away at the sides, draining into ditches filled with rushing water. Side-tunnels branched off into murky passageways, any one of which could prove to be the shifter's lair. The ground was slippery and coated with things she didn't want to think about. There were countless discarded items lying around, all of them in various stages of rusting away. She wasn't sure when her last tetanus shot had been, but she made a mental note to update it as soon as possible. The sewer system was like a maze from a horror movie and she knew exactly what that said about the creature who chose to live there.

She didn't want to show it, but Sam's words from earlier had made her uneasy. _More uneasy_. The younger Winchester wasn't taking the hunt as anything simple, confessing that he was prone to asking questions first and shooting later when it came to something wearing his brother's face. If they were hunting something that gave a Winchester pause, Jody figured she was right to be cautious. As for Dean, he had probably gone into overprotective mode if the strange _rock, paper, scissors_ game the brothers had played was any indication. He had always been overprotective, but there was a lack of subtlety about his actions this time that had her wondering just what was going on. Dean was heading into the tunnels first and keeping a sharp eye on everything around them. Maybe he was being protective, but then again, he might just be out to make sure another shapeshifter didn't get the opportunity to ruin his life. Perhaps it was a mixture of both.

She could understand the siblings' concerns. If their past experiences were anything to go by, shifter hunts were a challenge. How could anyone possibly protect against something that could pretend to be anyone it wanted to be?

Both hunters looked on edge, wary of what might be coming for them. It was an expression that had an almost permanent home on their faces lately and it made Jody wish, not for the first time, that she could have done something to help them earlier. There had been so many times over the years that Jody just wanted to bundle the Winchester boys up and save them from the world. It didn't matter that they were both grown men - she was all but certain they'd never really been children. What kind of life had they had where they were both intimately aware of how it felt to kill something that looked like their brother? Sam had said that there were a lot of things that had used Dean's face over the years. She knew about the Leviathans, of course, but the fact that there had been _others_ . . .

Jody tried to pull her head back into the game. She couldn't afford distraction.

The bobbing of Dean's flashlight was comforting, as was the sound of quiet splashing behind her as Sam followed closely behind. Jody was not a coward by any stretch of the imagination, but she wasn't so prideful that she couldn't admit to being glad the brothers were both there. The idea of taking on something like this alone was daunting. She would have done it, of course, but there was still that little nagging feeling of doubt. What if she made a mistake? What if she shot someone and found out later it was only an innocent sewer worker or something? A silver bullet could kill a human just as easily as it could a shifter. No, Jody was quite happy to have backup for this hunt.

"I think we're on the right track," Dean announced in a whisper, interrupting her thoughts and pulling her back to the present. "It shed its skin here."

He aimed his flashlight at a pile of gelatinous-looking goo on the ground.

"That's shifter skin?" Jody asked in disgust. As she looked down at it, she could vaguely make out the shape of a human ear. There were pieces of hair sticking out of the mound of discarded flesh, as well as teeth. It was disgusting and Jody felt ill at the sight, but she pushed the feeling down. It wouldn't help anything to admit how much it grossed her out.

"If it's shedding here, we're probably pretty close to its lair," Sam agreed. "Stay sharp."

The words weren't likely meant for Dean, but Jody didn't take it personally. She gripped her flashlight tightly and kept her gun ready. The boys were worried and that was more than enough to put her on guard.

They followed the passageway for what seemed like an eternity before Dean stopped again. He leaned down, poking at debris that was piled on the ground.

"Clothing," he said softly. "Hasn't been here long. Parts of it are still dry."

Jody turned to check on Sam, but the younger man was still bringing up the rear with a determined expression on his face. His eyes were in constant motion, sizing up every shadow for threats. Jody peered down a side passage as she walked by, shining her light against the brickwork.

Nothing.

Dean gave a small sound that had Sam moving forward with his gun at the ready. The brothers were so attuned to one another that Jody had barely had time to turn around before they were already working in unison like a well-oiled machine.

Jody caught a quick glimpse of a large chamber in front of them, but she couldn't see much from behind the other hunters.

"Stay behind us," Dean whispered.

Jody didn't like that at all, but there was no time to argue the point. She simply shifted her stance and guarded their backs as the boys went in.

"Doesn't look like it's here," Sam said quietly after a moment. "Not many places to hide, either."

It didn't take long to clear the room and Jody found herself in the lair of a shapeshifter.

Lair was the only way to describe it. It couldn't be considered much of a home by any stretch of the imagination - there was nothing comfortable about the space. There were multiple side tunnels exiting the room, which no doubt provided a quick escape if needed. Everything from the chains dangling from the tunnel ceiling to the piles of discarded skin heaped on the waterlogged floor indicated that the shifter wasn't particularly worried about appearances. There were flashlights on multiple flat surfaces, and a table near the edge of the room held a large grime-covered mirror.

There was a stack of blankets that probably doubled as a sleeping area. Jody noted that it was as far away from the water as it could get. Apparently even shifters didn't want to sleep in a puddle.

"Check this out," Sam said from his position on the far side of the chamber.

Jody picked her way carefully through the debris to see what had caught his attention.

"Newspaper clippings," he announced, shining his light on them so she could see better. "Every one of them about a domestic assault and some of them are nearly a decade old."

"Not all of these are from Sioux Falls, either," Jody observed. "He's been doing this a long time. Probably gets his kicks reading about it in the paper."

"Do you think it's possible it didn't even know Jim Johnston had died?" Sam asked, turning to Jody. "It doesn't look like impersonating dead people was part of its plan. Maybe it'd already chosen the form, but showed up one day too late."

"And that was enough to put it on my radar," Jody mused. "If it had come a day earlier, I would have had another open-and-shut domestic abuse case."

The thought that something like the shifter could be operating under her nose without her knowledge stoked more than a little anger in Jody. How many other crimes were being committed by monsters in her jurisdiction?

"Okay, I want this guy taken down," she said firmly. "Where the hell is he? I thought you said he slept during the day."

Sam shrugged. "We thought so. Good thing is that we know it'll come back here. We've got all the newspaper clippings and if it's carried them around for the better part of a decade, it isn't likely to leave them here."

"We might still be able to track it," Dean said. "Look for anything that might show us where it's going."

Jody turned back to the table with the mirror. Maybe he had left something there. Dean headed to the bed while Sam remained with the newspaper clippings.

The sheriff examined the small table with a professional's eye, dismissing the obvious garbage while noting the broken comb that had been carefully placed directly in front of the mirror, as though it meant something to the shifter. She saw nothing that would give any indication as to the shifter's next move. Jody sighed and glanced up into the mirror where she could see Sam's reflection as he read through the clippings. Something caught her eye and her heart suddenly skipped a beat.

She was shouting a warning even as she spun to face the threat, but she was going to be too late; she knew that with certainty as she brought her gun to bear on the figure that lurked just behind Sam.

The younger Winchester didn't have time to react as the shifter hit him viciously hard with a pipe. Sam dropped like a rock, unconscious before he even hit the ground, and the shifter was already moving.

Dean was letting loose, firing repeatedly the moment Sam had fallen, but the shifter was incredibly fast. Jody was firing, too, but her shots missed as the creature darted back into the tunnel.

Dean didn't waste a second crossing the room, bending briefly to check his brother's pulse before starting down the shadowy passageway. "Look after him!" he ordered, his voice hard and dangerous as he reloaded his weapon. "I'm going after the shifter."

Jody was already shaking her head. Going alone was a recipe for disaster. "Dean-"

"We don't have time to argue. It's our only chance to kill it," Dean insisted. "Be careful - it might circle back."

"Dean!" Jody's cry might as well have been a whisper for all the good it did. Dean was gone, chasing after a murderous shapeshifter in its own domain.

_So much for not splitting up._

* * *

It didn't take long for the adrenaline rush to leave and for Jody to once again start feeling the oppressive nature of the underground lair.

It didn't help that the chamber was not exactly the most defensible area and now that she was single-handedly responsible for the well-being of an injured man, she was painfully aware of all the ways in which the shifter might sneak up on them. She had taken Sam's gun and tucked it into her waistband at the small of her back, figuring that it wasn't doing him much good and it would save her from reloading if it came down to it. The shifter was unbelievably fast. She was going to need every advantage she could get.

As for Sam, Jody had checked him over as best she could and was fairly satisfied that he would be okay. He'd shown some signs of waking, and she was more than ready to have company again.

While she waited for Sam to join her in the land of the conscious, Jody worried about Dean. He had been gone for nearly ten minutes - more than long enough to get into trouble. More than long enough to get killed.

The agony of not knowing was eating at her, and only the knowledge that Sam needed her right now kept her from storming out into the tunnels after the elder Winchester.

She was starting to hate shapeshifters.

Sam groaned and moved slightly.

"Hey, Sam," Jody coaxed. "Time to wake up. Come on."

She was using the same tone she'd once used to wake her son and the fact was not lost on her. She wasn't old enough to be their mother, but the Winchester brothers inspired that same fierce protective streak in her and she couldn't bear to fight it. But now, one of her boys was hurt, the other was possibly off getting himself killed, and she was stuck in an underground labyrinth with a serial-killing monster.

She wasn't going to say ' _at least it can't get any worse_ '. She knew better than to tempt fate.

There was a muffled sound in the tunnel and Jody had her gun ready in an instant. She peered into the shadows, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Her teeth were gritted in determination. If that shifter thought she was going down easy, it had another thing coming.

"Jody?"

A jolt of relief ran through her at the voice. " _Dean_?"

"Jody, I'm coming in. Don't shoot me, okay?"

"Slowly," she warned, not lowering her guard.

A figure slowly melted out of the darkness, stepping into the light with deliberate caution. His hands were up in a non-threatening manner and Jody stared intently at him. He had a scrape on his forehead and was covered in what looked like all manner of dirt and grime. Jody didn't want to think about what substances might be covering Dean's jacket. It certainly _looked_ like him, but then again, that was the problem.

"How do I know it's you?" Jody asked.

"It's me," the figure said, a slight edge to his voice. He moved a little closer, letting Jody's flashlight shine on him more fully. "Jody, I swear to you that it's me."

"What about the shifter?"

"Dead. I killed him."

Jody frowned. "I didn't hear any gunfire."

"Decapitation also works." He replied. "Lost my machete down a side drain, though."

"There's gotta be some way you can prove it," Jody said. "I can't just take you at your word, not after everything you boys have told me about these things."

Sam gave another sound at her side and it was everything Jody could do to keep her eyes trained on the man in front of her.

"Sammy? How's he doing?" the figure took a step forward, but Jody warned him back with a jerk of her gun.

"No closer."

"I'm not going to hurt him! He's my _brother_!" The man protested. He let out a frustrated sigh. "I don't know how to prove it to you, Jody. I'm me, okay? Ask me something, _anything_. Something only I would know!"

Jody shook her head. "If you're the shifter, you know everything Dean would know."

The eyes that stared at her were Dean's. The hands that were raised in surrender were Dean's. The clothing looked like Dean's, but it was hard to tell under all the mud and slime. If it _wasn't_ Dean, it was an amazing impression.

Indecision swirled in Jody's mind. She was holding a gun on _Dean_.

Or she was holding a gun on a monster.

"You should have stayed with us," Jody said, a hint of anger colouring her voice. "We shouldn't even be in this situation!"

"We didn't have time. If he got away, we'd never find him again!"

Another moan beside her had her gritting her teeth. Sam had terrible timing. She wanted to check him, but she didn't dare take her eyes off the man who might be Dean.

"Jody, help him, _please_!"

Well, _damn_ if that didn't sound exactly like the words Dean would say.

She kept the gun trained on the man who might be Dean as she reached down with her other hand to pat Sam's cheek. "Come on, Sam. I could use your help here."

"Is he okay?" Dean's voice asked.

"He'll be fine," Jody said firmly. She stared at the man in indecision. There _had_ to be a way to tell if he was the real one . . .

And then it hit her.

"You said if he got away, we'd never find him again."

Dean's face took on a confused expression. "That's right. He's fast and if he got away-"

Jody's eyes narrowed as she rose to her feet, the gun trained at centre mass of the figure before her. "You're not Dean."

She fired, the bullet streaming from the gun with deadly precision. Even as the projectile struck home, something inside Jody screamed in horror at what she'd just done.

She watched as Dean's eyes flew wide in shock and his body jolted with the impact. For a moment they stared at each other, an eternity in which Jody could only watch as pain blossomed in the features of a man she loved like a son.

What if she was wrong?

_What if she had just murdered Dean?_

He fell to his knees, his hands already coming forward to cradle his wound. He gasped against the agony he must have been feeling and blood dribbled from his lips as he mouthed her name. When he looked up at Jody in disbelief, familiar eyes clouded in hurt and betrayal, something broke inside her.

Those were Dean's eyes.

She couldn't help it. A sob escaped from her mouth and she dropped the gun, sick dread filling her as she watched Dean's body slump to the side. Her hands shook and she nearly threw up.

She couldn't breathe. She had killed him.

_She had killed Dean_.

Her vision blurred and it took her a second to realize her eyes were filling with tears. She felt dizzy at the realization of what she had just done. Jody gasped for breath, falling to her knees beside Sam, suddenly aware that he was going to wake up to find that she had shot his brother.

What was she going to say to Sam?

As if on cue, the younger Winchester stirred again, this time managing to open his eyes blearily as he struggled to orient himself. Jody moved to block his view of his dead brother.

He shouldn't have to see that.

No one should ever have to see that.

She wanted to comfort him, to ask him if he was okay, but she couldn't breathe.

Sam seemed to rally a little at her obvious distress, shakily pushing himself up until he was propped against the chamber wall. He stared at her in concern even as he hissed in pain at his head injury. He was clearly trying to focus, but was having difficulty with the task.

"Jody?" he asked shakily. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam's eyes grew wide in alarm. "What happened? _Jody_?"

The fear in his eyes forced Jody to take a deep breath. She needed to be strong now. She had to be there for Sam, even if he never forgave her for what she'd done.

Her voice was surprisingly even when she answered. "I shot him. I thought he was the shifter and I shot him."

Sam's breath hitched as he stared at her in horror. "Dean? Where?"

Jody moved aside, letting Sam see the body for himself.

"No," the hunter breathed. " _No, no, no_. It isn't him, it can't be!"

He tried to stand, his shaking limbs barely supporting him. Jody reached out, half-expecting to be pushed aside, but Sam accepted her aid as she helped him to his feet. They made their way to the body where Sam dropped unceremoniously to his knees, heedless of the muck that covered the tunnel floor. He reached out with a trembling hand and touched his brother's shoulder, pushing slightly to turn the body onto its back.

Jody winced as Dean's limp form rolled on the filthy ground.

Sam was silent as he took in the lax features before him. His eyes trailed the length of the body, no doubt taking in the various scars and marks that made his brother uniquely _Dean_.

The silence stretched out to an almost unbearable length.

"It's not him," Sam said firmly.

Jody felt her heart break. "Sam-"

"It's not him!" The young hunter was adamant. "It's hard to tell about the clothes under all the mud, but those definitely aren't Dean's boots. They're not. It isn't him."

Jody bit her lip, uncertain. "His _boots_? Sam, I don't know."

"Jody, you have to trust me," Sam's eyes were huge as he looked up at her. "Dean is alive and we need to find him. He's alive. You killed the shifter, not Dean."

She wanted so badly to believe him.

"Please," Sam asked, pain evident in every pore. "Please help me find him."

She was helping him up before she was even aware of moving. The chances of finding Dean in the maze of tunnels were slim. Sam was injured, barely able to stand on his own, and Jody was still reeling from the events of mere minutes ago.

There was nothing else they could do, though. Jody knew in that moment that she would stay down there for as long as it took to find Dean. Or the shifter, if it turned out that Sam was wrong. She needed to know for certain, one way or the other.

She took as much of Sam's weight as she could, propping him up on her left side, and Sam seemed determined to avoid crushing her. They made their painfully slow way to the entrance the probable shifter had used, nearly making it before a sound reached their ears.

Jody reached to her waistband where she had stowed Sam's gun, pulling the weapon and aiming it with a trembling hand. Sam tried to take more of his own weight, reaching out to brace himself on the nearby wall as they waited to see what was happening. He was shaking so badly, Jody didn't dare release her grip on him.

There was the scuffing sound of shuffling feet and then a voice called out. "Jody? You okay?"

"Dean?" Sam called, hope filling his voice. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. I'm coming in. Don't shoot me, okay?"

The words had Jody tensing and as Dean Winchester's form turned the corner and stepped into the light she wanted to cry.

The elder Winchester had his hands up in an non-threatening gesture, though his gun was still clasped loosely in his right hand. He was covered in mud and slime, and was sporting a scrape on his forehead.

It was almost an exact replay of what had happened before and Jody was clenching her jaw so tightly she thought her teeth would crack.

Sam moved to step forward, but Jody held him back with a firm grasp on his arm.

"Wait," she said. Her tone left no room for argument and Sam fell still at her side.

The man with Dean's face stopped in the doorway. "It's me, Jody. I promise. Sammy?"

The figure turned to look at the younger man, his eyes simultaneously appraising Sam's condition and pleading for recognition. It was such a difficult expression to even define, much less replicate. Jody's breath hitched.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam blinked at the figure, plainly having issues seeing him clearly. Then again, he was already convinced that the shifter had been killed and Dean was alive. Sam wasn't going to be much help determining if this really was Dean and Jody couldn't rely solely on his concussed judgement.

"The shifter is still alive," the man warned, ignoring Sam's question as he turned to Jody. "We fought, but it knocked me out and got away."

Jody's eyes widened. "Say that again."

"Which part?" he asked in confusion.

"The part about the shifter," Jody insisted.

"It got away. It could be coming back here and we need to be ready."

"Oh my God!" Jody cried. She flicked the safety on and stowed the gun in her waistband before holding out her right arm to beckon Dean in. Sam shifted on her left, where her grip had probably turned painful rather than supportive, but Jody kept a hold of him anyway and he didn't fight it. There was only a moment of confused hesitation before Dean was moving into her embrace, bracketed on the other side by his unsteady brother.

Jody hugged him so tightly, she thought she might suffocate him by accident. He was getting her covered in sewer muck, but Jody didn't care.

_Dean was alive._

The relief was almost unbearable in its intensity and she felt her eyes tearing up again.

"Next time we hunt a shifter, if you go off on your own, I will shoot you," she said firmly.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean replied evenly. "But right now we need to find the shifter-"

"Jody killed it already," Sam pointed out, drawing out of the group hug so he could lower himself wearily to the floor. Dean reached out to help him down, then turned a surprised look to Jody.

"I thought you thought that _I_ was the shifter?"

"I wasn't sure," Jody countered. "I shot him and for a minute, I was certain it was him, but then when he was dying . . . all I could see was _you_. The eyes looked so much like yours . . . I thought maybe I'd made a mistake."

Dean's expression was soft and Jody saw the sympathy beneath the knowing gaze. "But you know for sure now?"

"Earlier when you were warning us about the shifter, you said that _it_ could be coming back," Jody explained. "You've always referred to the shifter as _it_. When the shifter was pretending to be you, it tried to tell us that _he_ might be coming back."

Dean's mouth opened in surprise. "Are you serious? You might have shot me over a misused _pronoun_?"

"You know what a pronoun is?" Sam joked tiredly from the floor, earning himself an exasperated glare from his brother.

Jody smiled faintly. "It all worked out in the end."

"For what it's worth, Jody, I'm sorry," Dean said softly. "That couldn't have been easy."

Jody bit her lip. She could have gone her entire life without the image of Dean dying in front of her to haunt her nightmares, particularly with the knowledge that it had been by her hand. She had killed the shifter, but Jody couldn't feel any sense of victory at the accomplishment; she just felt tired. Pulling the trigger would torment her for a long time. Though her brain knew that she hadn't murdered Dean, it was going to take awhile before her heart chose to accept it as fact.

Maybe she was starting to understand what Sam had meant when he said that things always went badly for them in a shifter hunt. Even when they won, there was a cost. As long as that cost was just Jody's peace of mind and not a dead Winchester, she could learn to live with that.

"What say we burn that handsome devil?" Dean interrupted her thoughts with a smile. "Then we can get Sammy topside for a CAT scan or something."

"I don't need a CAT scan," Sam protested with a groan.

Dean ignored him, rolling his eyes at Jody with a shake of his head.

Jody couldn't help but smile. That was the real Dean - accept no substitutes.

And when the shifter's body was ready to burn . . . well, she was going to be the one to light that sucker up.


	30. Do we really have to do this again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys ponder their family situation after Mary’s resurrection.

Set in season 12, just after they return to the bunker after saving Sam. I haven't watched season 12 in awhile, so it may be a bit off. Apologies if that's the case.

One more chapter to go after this!

* * *

Dean made his way into the library, frowning as he noted that the lights were already on. It was far too late for Sam to be researching, or maybe it was far too early? Whichever way you looked at it, there was no way that Sam should be out of bed in the middle of the wee hours.

Not that Dean was holding himself to that rule, however. He was absolutely allowed to wander the halls at any freakin' hour he wanted. His mind was still spinning with everything that had happened over the past few days, from Amara nearly destroying the world, to Mom being miraculously resurrected, to launching a full-blown rescue mission to recover Sam from the British Men of Letters. It was all a little hard to wrap his mind around.

He'd been hoping for some quiet time with a bottle of scotch, but it seemed like that would have to be put on the back burner. If Sam was awake, Dean was fairly certain he knew why.

His brother had been shot, kidnapped, drugged, and tortured, all while believing Dean had died. Then, when he'd finally been rescued, he'd been greeted by his long-dead mother. For a man who had a history of being plagued by hallucinations and altered realities, Sam was likely to be having a terrible time figuring out what exactly was real. Then again, maybe Sam was fine and was just enjoying being able to walk around without bullet holes or burnt feet.

He peered around the corner, taking in the sight of Sam sitting blankly at the table while staring off into the middle distance.

Yup, that looked like he was dealing with things really well.

Dean sighed. He really should have thought of the possible reality issues earlier.

Well, no time like the present.

He buried down his desire to drown his emotions in alcohol and pasted a neutral expression on his face before making his way into the library. He made certain that his approach was not silent; there was no sense in startling his brother.

"What are you doing up?" he asked as Sam glanced over to him.

The younger Winchester was surrounded by books, but Dean knew instantly that he hadn't actually been reading them.

Surprisingly, Sam didn't look overly distraught. A little tired, maybe, but weren't they all?

"Couldn't sleep. You?"

"Same. How's the foot?" Dean asked, trying to feel out his brother's thoughts as he sat down in the seat across from him.

"Better. Cas did a good job healing it."

It wasn't exactly witty repartee, but Dean nodded as though Sam had said something profound. "Seriously, though, are you okay? Why can't you sleep?"

"I was just thinking," Sam replied easily. "Nothing to worry about."

_Nothing to worry about?_ When Sam started thinking in the middle of the night, Dean did nothing _but_ worry. Dean stared at him for a moment and Sam almost smiled at his scrutiny.

"Okay," Dean said slowly. "Is this conversation going to require alcohol to get through? Because I can arrange that."

Sam actually did smile at that. "I'm fine, Dean. No alcohol required."

"Right, you're just sitting in the library by yourself because there's nothing at all weighing on your mind. Do we really have to do this again? You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."

"I know," the younger hunter met Dean's gaze evenly. "Honestly, I know that."

It was a small comfort to hear him say that. "So, no problems with Mom being brought back to life? No problems telling what's real or not?"

"It's weird having her around," Sam admitted, "and it's going to take some getting used to, but I'm dealing with it. I think I've got a pretty good handle on reality right now."

And _damn_ if that didn't sound just a little too healthy to be true.

Sam cleared his throat and leaned forward. "How about you? No problems with the soul bomb thing? You had a rough few days, too."

That was an understatement, but it wasn't something Dean wanted to talk about. He'd come out to get a drink and process his emotional trauma privately, _thank you very much_. "Like you said; it's weird, but I'm dealing."

Sam seemed to accept his answer and they fell into silence for a moment. It was comfortable and it would have been easy to leave it there, but something made Dean push.

"What are you thinking about?"

Sam's forehead creased as he clearly fought with the decision of whether or not to tell Dean. That more than anything made the decision _for_ him in Dean's eyes.

"C'mon, Sammy. Spill."

"Fine," Sam said with a long, slow exhale. "I'm thinking about Dad."

He looked at Dean closely as though gauging his reaction.

There was no need scrutinize - Dean's reaction would not have been hidden to any but the most unobservant of people. He leaned back for a moment, surprise momentarily making him forget to breathe.

_Dad._

Sam was thinking about _Dad_.

Dean stood slowly, pushing his chair back as he got to his feet. He tried not to look at his brother as he made his way across the room to the bar fridge that they had installed in the corner. He could feel Sam's eyes on him as he grabbed two crystal tumblers and poured a healthy measure of scotch into each. He turned to take the drinks back to the table, but paused for a moment in consideration before grabbing the bottle, too.

Sam's face was sombre as Dean handed him one of the glasses, as though unsure of what his brother would say now that he'd brought up their father.

Dean held up his hand to forestall any conversation for a moment, then he took a deep swig, savouring the burn of the alcohol as it made its way down his throat.

He looked back to his brother and sighed. "Okay. So, you're thinking about Dad."

Sam nodded and took a sip of his drink. He gave a small wince as he did so, but Dean was almost certain it was just from habit. His brother had been drinking hard liquor for a long time - far too long to be bothered by the bite.

"Just . . . what would he make of all this, you know?" Sam elaborated. "He spent his life trying to avenge Mom and now she's back. She's back and he's gone . . . it's like they're destined to be apart forever."

"Well, that's . . . bleak," Dean muttered, taking another drink.

He tried not to think about John Winchester too much. It still hurt when he let himself go down that path and even the thought that Dad was in heaven was not enough to completely erase the pain of his loss. Dean could never forget that his father had died for him and it was not something he wanted to dwell on. Even a decade on, some scars never really healed.

"It's more than that," Sam shrugged. "I just really wish that he had gotten a chance to see her again, you know? Or that he could have been happy just one more time."

Dean nodded slowly. "And Mom would have had someone she recognized from back then. I mean, yeah, he would have been much older than she remembered, but they would have been able to share a lot of memories. It would have been good for both of them."

Sam took another drink. "When I think about how long he mourned her, and the fact that now she's here mourning him . . . I guess it would have been too much for Amara to bring him back too, right?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "Honestly, she probably saw it as an even trade. I gave her what she needed, so she gave me what she thought I needed. If she had given me a chance, though, I would have tried. I would have asked for so many people. Dad, Bobby, Charlie . . ."

"Kevin and Rufus," Sam added. He paused for a moment. "Jessica."

He said it hesitantly, but Dean nodded encouragingly.

They had lost so many people. Getting one back was an amazing thing and it seemed ungrateful to want more, but Dean wanted so much more.

"Do you think Mom and Dad would have gotten along?" Sam asked. "If Dad were still alive today, I mean."

Dean considered his answer for a moment. "I'd like to think so. She'd be mad as hell about him raising us to be hunters, though."

Sam gave a snort of laughter. "Yeah. Then again, he didn't _know_ she didn't want us to be hunters. He was kind of in the dark."

Dean smiled back. "That's true. I guess communication really is key."

"And with all the things we know now," Sam continued, "Dad would have been amazed. The Legacy thing, time travel . . . we could have told Dad that his father didn't abandon him."

"You don't even know how many times we've been facing something down and I wished he was there with us," Dean admitted. "He wasn't always right, but he was a damn fine hunter."

"Can you imagine him meeting angels?" Sam said with a small grin. "He would've been searching for ways to kill them as soon as he learned they were real. Just in case."

Dean gave a laugh. "Crowley wouldn't have lasted very long, either. Dad would have made taking him out a freakin' life goal."

"There are some parts I'm really glad he missed," Sam confessed softly.

It didn't take much guessing on Dean's part to know exactly what Sam was referring to.

He didn't want to think about how Dad would have reacted to Sam's relationship with Ruby or his demon blood addiction. Granted, Dad's reaction to the time Dean spent as a demon or under the influence of the Mark of Cain would likely have been almost as explosive. Dad was many things, but he didn't really see shades of grey.

Dean shoved the thoughts aside as grabbed the bottle of scotch and refilled both their glasses. The conversation was getting far too maudlin. While having their father back might have been a perfect twist to end the Winchester family tragedy, it just wasn't in the cards. At the end of the day, they had one parent back from the dead and they had barely even begun to process what exactly that might mean.

Dean was thrilled at the thought of getting to know his mom. He was beyond thrilled that Sam was finally going to get a chance to have a mother in the first place. Dean couldn't wait to find out what things she liked or didn't like, and he already had it planned that both brothers would help her decorate her bedroom the way she wanted so she'd feel at home. Dean wanted to have a family dinner that he cooked himself while Sam and Mom bonded over some shared love for obscure literature or something like that. He wanted to pack everyone up in the car and go on a road trip. They'd done so many with Dad, but never one with Mom. They'd show their mother everything she'd missed in the decades since her death. They would make sure that she never felt alone.

For the first time in a long time, Dean had hope. Something good had happened, something he'd never even thought to ask for, and he was not going to mess it up. Dean couldn't dwell on the fact that there was a John-Winchester-shaped hole in their newly re-formed family. It simply wouldn't change anything. For once in his life, he was going to focus on the miracle. He was going to make the most of it.

He missed his father fiercely, but Dean was determined that he was going to make absolutely certain that Mom felt loved, safe, and happy. He just needed to get Sam on board with looking forward instead of back.

"We have a chance here, Sammy," Dean said seriously. "It's something I never thought we could ever say, but Mom's back. We can make this work."

"Is this your way of telling me to look on the bright side?" Sam asked.

"We don't get nearly enough bright sides to start taking them for granted," Dean pointed out. "We're going to do this right."

Sam looked as lost as Dean secretly felt. "How? We don't know anything about her. Not really."

"We'll figure it out," Dean said firmly. "One day at a time."

He raised his tumbler, sloshing the liquid inside impatiently as he waited for Sam to lift his own drink.

Sam smiled as he clinked his glass against Dean's and the brothers downed the scotch in unison.

"Now, little brother, I say 'one day at a time' can start as soon as it's actually _daylight_ ," Dean announced. "I'm heading to bed and so are you."

He was relieved to see his little brother nod in agreement.

"Goodnight, Dean," Sam said, rising from his chair. He reached for his empty glass, but Dean beat him to it.

"Bed, Sammy," Dean ordered lightly. "I've got this."

As Sam nodded his thanks and headed off in search of much-needed sleep, Dean cleaned up the evidence of their impromptu drinking session. His thoughts were still racing, but they were no longer chaotic. Amara's gift was going to change their lives and for the first time in a long time, Dean was thinking about the future with a hopeful heart.

Anything was possible.


	31. I've waited so long for this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there are moments that you wish could last forever.

Here it is - the last chapter! It's probably a very appropriate challenge phrase this time as I've taken forever with this one. Sorry about the wait!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like it!

Elya Rho

* * *

John sat with his arm around Mary, utterly content with his life for the first time in what seemed like forever. He smiled as she shifted slightly, snuggling into his embrace as they stared up at the stars. The night was cold, the spring air still retaining some of winter's bite. It was as good a reason as any to cuddle up together. They were sitting on the hood of the Impala and the metal was rapidly cooling under them.

John couldn't recall just how many times an evening drive had turned into watching the stars in an empty field somewhere, but there was something inherently peaceful about it. Sometimes they could only stay outside a little while before the cold forced them back into the Impala's cozy interior. Other nights, nights like this, they braved the cold anyway, taking their warmth from each other and the fading heat of the hood beneath them.

It may have been chilly, but it was a beautiful night - the perfect night to spend stargazing with his wife. Sometimes it still amazed him that she _was_ his wife. What she saw in him, he'd never know for sure.

"I love you," John murmured as he placed a kiss on the top of Mary's head. He smiled as she sighed contentedly in response, squeezing his hand. "I wish things could just stay like this forever."

"Well, maybe not quite like this," Mary said with a smile.

John pondered that for a moment. "True. Maybe a blanket next time we stay outside in the middle of the night. That might be a good plan."

Mary patted his hand. "That's not really what I mean."

"What would you change?" John asked curiously.

Mary moved then, slipping out from under John's arm so he could see her face clearly. She gripped his hand tightly, drawing it up so she could kiss it.

"I'd only change one thing, John Winchester," she said. "I would add the one thing we've been missing; something we've waited so long for . . . a baby."

She drew his hand forward and placed it on her belly with a meaningful expression.

John left his hand there for a moment, the depth of Mary's words not really sinking in for a moment.

"Did you just-" his jaw dropped as he looked up into his wife's eyes. "Are you-"

She took pity on him and laughed lightly. "I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father, John!"

John knew his was grinning like an idiot. His heart felt ready to burst with absolute and unbridled joy. He wasn't typically an emotional man, but tears formed in his eyes and he was shocked at just how deeply the news was hitting him.

" _Mary_ ," he breathed. He didn't even know what to say. He drew her close and hugged her tightly, kissing her hair over and over again while he tried desperately to come up with the words to tell her how he felt.

Mary, for her part, seemed to understand. She laced her fingers through his and waited patiently as the gamut of emotion overwhelmed John.

"I love you," John whispered as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "This is going to be the best thing that's ever happened to us. I can't believe I'm going to be a father!"

He was going to be a better father than his own had been, that was for sure. He was going to love his son or daughter with every fibre of his being. He was going to be there for that child every moment of every day.

John beamed at the thought as he kissed Mary's soft lips.

It couldn't be more perfect.

* * *

Dean stared at the keys in his hand uncomprehendingly.

He was vaguely aware of Sammy standing beside him, a look of utter amazement on his face. The teen was practically vibrating from excitement, which probably meant that Dean had heard his father correctly . . .

" _Really_?" Dean asked, trying not to get too hopeful, just in case even Sammy had heard Dad wrong.

Dad nodded. "Really. It's time. You've loved that car your entire life. She's yours."

Dean felt like he was floating as he clenched his fists around the keys, relishing the feeling of the indentations digging into his palm.

_His_ keys for _his_ car.

_His_ 1967 Impala.

His Baby.

Dean grinned then, looking at his father with an almost embarrassing amount of gratitude.

"Thank you, Dad," he managed to say. There weren't enough words to show just how thrilled he was. He felt like his heart was going to burst.

Dad was clearly pleased with Dean's reaction. "You've gotta treat her well, right? Look after her and she'll look after you."

"Absolutely," Dean affirmed enthusiastically. Like he'd ever let anything bad happen to his beloved car.

"Well, I've got some stuff to take care of in town," Dad announced with a rare grin. "I'll be back after dinner. I'm sure you boys will find some way to entertain yourselves?"

"Yes, sir," they intoned in unison. In a matter of moments, Dad had driven off in his truck, leaving Sam and Dean alone with Dean's new car.

"Are you going to take Marcy Lewis for a ride?" Sammy asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing miserably.

Dean pretended to ponder his question for a moment, drawing out his brother's agony before he finally laughed. "I've waited so long for this moment. Do you really think I'd share it with anyone but you?"

Sam's answering grin was incandescent and he gave a loud cry of excitement.

"Get in, shrimp," Dean laughed as Sam raced for the passenger side. Dean stepped around to the front of the car, running his hand lightly along her hood as he passed. He couldn't help but admire her sleek lines and powerful form.

As he made his way to the driver's side, he marvelled at his good fortune. He'd loved the muscle car from the time he'd been a child. Her throaty growl and powerful engine had been a lullaby long before she had ever fired up his blood.

And now she was his. It was almost unbelievable.

He opened the door and climbed in, savouring the feel of the steering wheel in his grip and the way the seat hugged his back.

He'd driven her before, of course, countless times, but this time was different. This time was special.

He pulled the door closed and shot his brother a quick grin.

Within moments, the Winchester brothers were peeling out of the parking lot at a speed just-this-side of reckless. Sam laughed from the passenger side as Dean guided them to a back road where they would be able to really let her fly.

He was driving the car of his dreams, the tunes were blaring, and his little brother was at his side. . . Dean had never been happier in his life.

It couldn't be more perfect.

* * *

Sam couldn't help but smile as he gripped the steering wheel comfortably in his large hands. He didn't get to drive much these days and though he would have preferred Dean to be uninjured, things weren't as bad as they had seemed mere days ago.

Three days ago, Sam had been convinced he and his brother were going to die. They had been facing tremendous odds with the fate of most of humanity at stake.

_Again._

They had made it - surviving by the skin of their teeth, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, laughing in the face of danger, and all the other clichéd sayings that people pulled out when they had barely scraped through something that ought to have killed them.

Sam sighed, his smile fading. It almost _had_ killed Dean.

His brother had, among other things, a concussion and a broken arm. Not the first time a Winchester had been down with a limb in a cast, but hopefully the last time for a long while.

Waiting for his brother in the hospital had given Sam a lot of time to think. Mainly, he had pondered their lives and where they were going. There had been a time when he would have given anything to quit hunting and live a normal life. Now, he had no desire to leave. He was a hunter from a line of hunters, a scholar from a line of scholars, and one half of a badass duo bent on saving as many people as they could before their cards were punched.

Maybe it sounded overdramatic, but Sam didn't care. He was in this for the rest of his life, however long it happened to be. He had made his peace with that thought a long time ago and he took comfort in the fact that he was going to be at Dean's side no matter what. When their time came, it would come for both of them together - that much was certain, but it didn't mean that the entire road had to be one of gloom and doom.

They always fought to _survive_ , but sometimes they forgot to _live_.

That was when the idea had come to Sam.

The only time either brother felt completely and utterly at peace was when they were in the car, driving with the windows down and the music up, enjoying each other's company. Nothing healed the body better than healing the soul, and Dean's soul always longed for the open road. So, when Dean had been well enough to travel, Sam had bundled his brother up and they drove away.

When the low rumble of the Impala's engine finally lulled Dean into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in days, Sam let his mind roam and just enjoyed the feeling of the Impala chewing up the miles. There was no more stress, at least not today. His destination was already in mind, and though it would be close, he knew he would get there in time.

It was nearing dawn when Sam finally found the place he'd been looking for and pulled the car off the road. For a moment, he simply sat in the dark and contemplated when he should wake his sleeping brother.

In the end, the sky made the decision for him.

As the first light of morning touched the sky, Sam reached over and gently touched Dean's shoulder, mindful of his brother's injuries.

Dean woke surprisingly easily, despite his medications. "We've stopped?"

Sam nodded. "We're here."

"Where is here?"

"Somewhere we've waited a long time to see," the younger Winchester answered with a smile. "Look."

Dean followed Sam's gaze, noting the lightening sky for the first time. Sam turned back, wanting to see Dean's expression the moment he realized where they were. It took several minutes, but suddenly Dean sat forward, his face reflecting his amazement as he stared out the front window into the dawn.

All around them, the darkness was being swept aside by the rising sun. Slowly, the world came into focus, revealing the incomparable beauty of the rocky landscape.

It was worth the long drive.

"Are we . . . are we where I think we are?" Dean breathed, awe evident in his voice.

Sam nodded slowly. "The Grand Canyon. I thought it was time."

Dean was already reaching for his door handle, fumbling to open it despite his cast. Sam climbed out his side, preparing to go around to help his brother, but by then Dean had already managed it.

The elder hunter circled to the front of the Impala, trailing his fingers along the side of the hood as he did. His eyes remained fixed firmly on the sunrise in front of him.

Sam smiled as he leaned one arm on the roof and watched his brother.

"Sammy, get your ass up here before you miss this," Dean ordered, as though the few feet from the hood of the car to the driver's side door would spoil Sam's view.

Sam just grinned and joined his brother at the front of the car.

As the new day broke over the rugged chasms of the Grand Canyon, Sam could hear Dean's soft sigh of contentment.

They were alive and they were together. Sam let his hand drift over the Impala's still-warm hood as he watched the sun rise, unconsciously mirroring his brother's stance. He took a deep breath of the early-morning air and felt a sense of complete peace flow over him.

It couldn't be more perfect.


End file.
